I’ve been looking for myself.


As I looked, I thought

“Maybe my self is

like the pea the prince’s mother

hid under all those mattresses


I will just know it is there.”


But I didn’t find it difficult to sleep,

or more difficult than usual, I suppose.


I kept looking.


“Maybe I will suddenly awake from a deep slumber

to find everyone knows exactly who I am.”


But waking up never felt much different,

except some wakings were more groggy than others.


I kept looking.


“Maybe a cricket, or a genie, or a fairy

will guide me to my self.”


But no magical creatures showed themselves,

except for the occasional squirrel or bird

foraging outside my window.


I kept looking.  


And as long as I kept looking for

some sign,

some revelation,

some declaration

from outside myself,

it never came.

And if you keep waiting for

the fairy tale,

the silver bullet,

the surprise inheritance,

your story might never begin.