Oh Identity, I am renown for you. Not just the papers which I carry in my wallet, or the papers in my house I keep or hide like birth certificates.
You are my label, you are my tag. When the power of association brings me to mind among others who know me, the picture, then of you is conjured, you annoying nuisance.
People are restricted by you, representative, yet lying, hypocrite. I build you up from the ground, put attractive colors upon thee, in the hopes that some would find pleasure and attraction, yet you’ve maliciously mocked and attempted to choke me.
I’ve often attempted to make you out to be a comfort to me yet you have blatantly discomfited me. Gave me no rest at times, I’ve lost sleep at times due to your disturbances. Cannot we see eye to eye (or is it “I to I?”).
I hate to admit it but it is in you I have invested. Then again why is it that when I invest in you and then invest you into this life, you go on and mock me. You were not designed by me to mock me. But there is something amiss, a thing awry, yes an external, an eternal something at work here, which somehow ordained that my work, my investment in you (Identity) would always come to naught.
Why, but why, must you defraud me, and then worse, why must you insist that it is I, it is I who am defrauding self???????
Will you not behave, will you not help me to foster confidence, erudition, charm, a bastion of fortitude. No, oh no, instead you tender whimsy, mayhem, chaos, and the worse of these is despair, futility, and insufficiency.
Oh, Identity can you not one day rise up out of ruin, cannot my tears create wreaths of love, of joy about thy neck, cannot, can it not, please, please?
You act as if you are an illusion, a fiction, a lie. Why, oh why?
What is left to me, of what shall I be availed? What is that you say…..?
“Avail yourself of Truth” ??????
But I am naked without you!
How can truth clothe me?
“Nothingness will swallow you, less you submit to Truth.”
Wait a minute, hold on there…..
Are you saying that I am nothing? Am driven by nothing, and so it is that in desperation I dress myself with flights of fancy, illusions….
So if this is so, then what am I left with?
“You are left with God, real Life”
Thank you for reading, please if you wish, contact me in the comments below, or at firstname.lastname@example.org or on Facebook as Miguel Angel Oquendo (of Huachuca City, Az.)