Who am I supposed to be?
I guess the more important question is who you want me to be
I am not a score on an SAT,
Just because I can define your obscure words does not mean I’m a genius.
I can’t wrap my mind around empirical evidence,
Numbers turn into mazes,
I’m trapped in systems and formulas
I guess I won’t be too much help when the Russians come.
Am I supposed to be a beauty?
I’ll turn my bible into 17 Magazine
See I don’t understand this article;
Should I be on my knees in prayer or in ecstasy?
Make up your mind society,
‘Cause I sure as hell can’t make up mine.
Christ I can’t even focus,
Does that mean I have ADD?
Prescribe me some Ritalin please,
I want to find the answer to all my problems in the bottom of a pill bottle
Clozaril
Dalmane
Xanax
Zolfot
Paxil
Prozac,
The new-age enlightenment
What am I gonna say to Buddha when I ignore the black box warning?
I don’t get it
I don’t get it
I don’t get myself.
Because, you see, one day I’ll be screaming for change
Heart clanging like church bells
And the next day, I’ll be rolling my eyes at the very thought
I mean, what the hell is that?
I guess I must be bipolar too.
Or maybe have a touch of multiple personality disorder
‘Cause I always feel like three different people at once
Schizophrenic perhaps?
‘Cause I think I’m supposed to be great
Maybe it’s just a case of the American dream
You should be yourself but somehow be like everyone else
I don’t get it,
It seems more like a nightmare
I guess I’m not as smart as the scores on my SAT
It’s okay though,
I don’t want to know everything,
What’s the fun in that?
The only thing I’m sure of is that I’m me
Who is me?
I don’t know, but maybe instead of asking me that ALL THE TIME
You should ask yourself
Because modern Americans, we’re as clueless as the next world.
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Tags: question, slam poetry
