What’s the Answer?

I have a question.
It’s kept me up at night,
made me want to cry.
Want to run away and hide.
But I don’t.
I just lay under un-tucked covers,
ready for another sleepless night
ready for my mind to start a fight,
that won’t end with the sunrise
To you, it’s probably dumb,
this question I repeat
over and over when I can’t fall asleep.
It’s not a who or a what,
not a when or a how.
Not a where because really, it could have been anywhere
I wouldn’t have cared
but a why,
It’s a why.
Why am I who I am?
My experiences? Genetics?
Is that all I am?
Some coding, some genes
that tell me how to react
what my life means?
If that’s not true,
then couldn’t someone else
have the same
only to be
someone other than me?
Honestly, you don’t need a life story.
What I will say is it had a lot of me saying
“I’m Sorry”
a lot of being told “You can’t”
a lot of dreams that crashed back down to the ground
too many times they didn’t get lift
and just lay there lifeless and still.
But now, after all of this
I’m not bitter
not really.
I don’t resent those unready to see me succeed.
When told you’re a failure
told you can’t amount to anything
you see it happen
to too many
friends and family.
You may believe it,
Not me.
I wonder why I’m like me instead of like them,
and I remember back to the ones who said “You can”
The obscure voices who may have believed,
one day I may just do great things.
Do I not want to disappoint these faces I can’t picture?
Or would I rather spite those
who said I’d be stuck doing dishes
of all the people better than me,
all the people, who did succeed.
Maybe I’m just looking at this all wrong
but this drive I have,
Where does it come from?


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