Identity Poem by Masa MbathaOpasha

IDENTITY

Me, myself and I,
best friends
and worst enemies
of my being
since curdle days.
Metaphoric chaos
to reconcile inside out,
no ideas but only things
to feed my booming belly,
holding tight
to the emptiness of my head.
I thought I was a man,
Or at least something similar.
Now my thoughts,
weeded and weak,
crawl sleepless to meet
the people and stones
of my useless civilizations.
Let the writing be of words.
Invent! Compose!
The flower that splits the rocks.