an existential poem

written in a moment of intense philosophical weakness 

I am not the contents of my hard drive

I am not my extended social network

I am not my bank account

I am not my physique

I am not my form of transportation

I am not the food I eat

I am not my activism

I am not my leisure time

I am not my children

I am not my love

I am not my art

I am I/nothing/that I am/you


But I do feel, and I do sweat.
I do talk, and I do eat.
I do act, and I do think.
I do love, and I do live. Does that count for anything?