Identity Poem by Chris G. Vaillancourt

I have been
my father's son;
my mother's son;
my grandparents grandson;
my sister's brother;
my wife's husband;
my children's father.

I have been a child;
a student;
a poet;
an artist;
a teacher;
a parent;
a labourer;
an employee;
a social insurance number.

Now I am wondering where I am?
What is 'me'?

I seem awash in
various labels,
a variety of tags
that have been
attached to me.
Each is a role to play
that supposedly defines
what I am.

Sometimes I want to disrupt
every
identify I am
compelled to play.

Upset the apple cart.

Open my wallet
and
spill out every
piece of paper that
identifies me.

If I throw away my
birth certificate;
does it mean
I have never been born?

If I burn my
Social Insurance Card;
does it mean
I have ceased to exist?

Who am I?
How do I belong in this
mist of roles and perceptions?

I'm not sure anymore
I really know
who I am supposed to be.
Does this mean that I
am nothing?
Nothing, without a
label to purify me?