madness is like love

I've struggled.
I can't help but wonder
what is me and more importantly,
what is not.
That is to say:
Where does me begin and end,
and where does the not me begin?

Is me just a soul? Is me this body?
Is me the clothes I wear or the words I speak;
the bed I sleep in, the posters on my walls?
Is me my friends? My family? My lovers?
Is me the house I live in, the city I work in,
the nation I pledge to, the religion I have
faith in, the earth I live on?
Is me the air I breathe or the grass I lay on;
or is me the food I eat, the books I read,
the songs I sing or the words I speak?
Is me my thoughts? My actions? My attitude?
My personality--
Is me the rain that falls around me, or
the sunlight that warms me, or the darkness
that blankets me each night?
Is me the buses I ride each day or the sights
I see; is me the art I look at or the music
I listen to or the philosophies I discuss?
Or is me the classes I take? The jobs I apply for?
The things I buy, the things I steal, the things
I wish for and will never have?
Is me my dreams? My goals? My aspirations of life?
Is me the hounded slave, the mash'd fireman?

We argued. But I confess that without your knowledge,
I found myself arguing more with me, than you. I'm sorry
for that--you deserved my full attention.