Who are you really?

This is then me,

Any further articulation would become a falsity.

I gave a man on the street a twenty dollar bill,

And then kicked a kneeling man staying stiff and still.

I can preach about the Lord yesterday,

And commit the greatest sin today.

You want the truth?

Try dealing with what is true.

I have a saxophone and a cello and a trumpet in my room.

I have Dante, Bunyan, Milton on my shelf.

You would think that I could play and read them by myself.

Sad to say they are for posterity’s sake.

Truth is subjective, Subjected to your truth.

I am who I am at the present.

Connect the dots of my past and

You will see that I am a chameleon.

Anything else is a falsity,

Masks on display.

Hate me and be nauseous

For telling you the truth.