am i?

                                    first, are you our sort of person?
         If I was your sort of person,
         I couldn't call myself a son,
         I couldn't be who I am,
         couldn't call myself human.

                                 you're living a lie.
         I'm living a lie?
         says the one who denies,
         the perfect setting,
         for scenery unsettling.

I thought I knew me,
         guess I was wrong,
         and wrong for so long,
         and now the question is subtle,
         am I my own sort of person?

© 2010 The Still Air

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