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?