If I Knew I Wasn’t What I Am, Then I Wouldn’t be What You Wish me to be

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If I knew I wasn’t what I am, then I wouldn’t be what you wish me to be 

I was not who,

and I was not when.

Whoever you believed it to be; it wasn’t me

I was somewhere, forgetting my Christian’s vow.

Watching my glass of Stella Artois empty,

With a wayward friend who drinks more slowly,

and although things are different now.

I still frequent San Clemente,

I was not who,

And I am not him.

I was wondering where the notion initially began.

If I could prevent your making a purse from a Sow,

I would suggest you go back there and look once again.

Walk up to the gentleman and ask him quite boldly.

Who he truly is and then exactly how,

He came to resemble me.

So I tell you this in earnest.

I am not now nor have I ever been

And I surely wasn’t then

Although in younger years I, the slough were more confident, handsome and thin.

However it is safe to say that at best

I resemble mediocrity now

Time has been cruel you see?

I wasn’t who.

I don’t know how.

It wasn’t when.

It isn’t now.

I swear it to be true!

And no matter how it spins,

I cannot make the mystery grow or even ever begin.

I am quite simply me.



Full of Regret






Still enslaved and yet spiritually somehow free

But Truthfully?

If I knew.

If I knew.

I wasn’t what I am?

I would still be a man among men.


If I weren’t wiser older and decidedly less trim?

Then I wouldn’t be what you wish me to be.

To begin with.

©2009 J. K. Bradford


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