Amalgamation 41

My face has never felt complete
Blurry, shifting, I could never get it to settle
Into any one coherent personality
Age has forced it to still itself somewhat
Yet after decades of inability to name my true self
It’s still such a question mark

So much time in the light of others
Forming a smooth shield
Reflecting some of their brilliance back to them
Absorbing the rest in admiration
Turning it this way and that
Pinching and squeezing it
Marveling at its purity 

I attempt to disassemble it
Believing analysis might
Teach me how it operates
Show me how it’s made

My front has never been clearly defined
A plain facade with few windows and fewer doors
Dull grays with mostly black trim
Maybe a few white highlights
Even as age sees it crumble at the corners
It’s still such a question mark

Shape and line fragments cloned from others
Amorphous and confused
Dissolving if I hold on too tightly for too long
Those that fascinate selectively retained
Some are projected outward
Some remain deeply obscured
I can’t name them

Everything I am and ever was
An amalgamation
After four long decades
I still can’t fathom

September 21 2024