What Kind of Man am I

What kind of man am I? I don't even know who I am...done spent the good part of my life in a constant state of change, being what they wanted me to be, doing things they needed done, desperately seeking, hoping to prove to them.

But what kind of man am I? Never ever really defining self, my face an empty canvass...giving them paint brushes to draw on the face, driving me to a place where I move to the beat of their drum - dancing through a performance, directed by them, my insatiable audience. The performance I wish would end.

So what kind of man am I? I want to break free from their chains, but the pains have become so familiar that I am afraid to move, afraid of the wounds that freedom expose. The comfort of my prison allows me to walk through life asleep, always hitting snooze on my dreams...dreams that lie dormant, with a lack of vision, infertile efforts discourage ascension. Periodically peeking my eye out of my cell, hoping to give hope a chance, but I sit and stare through my clouded window, hiding in between shadows in a small beam of light, barely holding on with one hand grasping tightly to the set of keys inching towards the door of my prison cell, but what kind of man am I?

By Andrew J. Dorsey
March 26, 2009 - 11:07 PM

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