I looked for myself within books,
Within many different intellectual looks,
Within enough classical music until my head shook.
I wasn’t there.

I looked for myself within the strings of a guitar,
Within the backseat of some rock boy’s car,
Within the idea of somehow becoming a superstar.
I wasn’t there.

I looked for myself within expensive clothing,
Within material goods and a bit a self loathing,
Within a shattered soul underneath a shiny coating.
I wasn’t there.

As the years passed and my lack of identity left be scared,
I refused to give up on my hopes to find me.
I kept looking in these crutches for the person I think I want to be.
I grew tired of not being there.

I looked for myself within solitude,
Within my ability to suppress my attitude,
Within a will to simply exist, neither kind nor crude.
I wasn’t there.

I looked for myself within groups of people I diligently served,
Within large crowds where I only observed,
Within group discussions that I left undisturbed.
I wasn’t there.

I looked for myself within a religion and its encouraging allure,
Within a book with all the promised answers,
Within people who believed their words could help cure cancer.
I wasn’t there.

I gave up on looking for myself everywhere.
And one day myself found me.
I am a mix of where I went looking and am who I want to be.
I am here.