missing me.

im not special
im not amazing
im not even all that good
and i wanted her
to tell me
what i am
but she didnt
maybe she couldnt
maybe im just not

i wanted a gandolf
you told me no
not even a mentor
this time
i just wanted
i only wanted
insight
and again
(still)
i am on my own
my own standards
my own stories
my own path
alone.
free will
willing me
filling me
spilling me
freedom is different
than liberty
but everything
is about power
more than the having,
interpersonal relations
are not that simple
but kind
and place
and motive
determining transition
position
translation
deportation
middle class membership
conditionally granted
and thus my view
necessarily slanted
planted
in a photograph
of a memory
20 years removed
and nostalgia,
like a malignant disease,
my attempt
at identity.
"who am i
without who i thought id be?"