I Asked a Question

I asked a question long ago Quite in need, quite painfully "Am I really truly me?" The answer then was no. But I was very young And what people said I believed And took as part of me And soon what was me was gone. I've spent the years regaining The essence of who I am Yet I cannot truthfully say That I am really me. I have indeed found most of me In the ruin of what I had become But some part still eludes me And this part I've not found. Is that so bad I wonder? Would I like me if I knew? Is something that I never knew Worth the price of knowing? But what if what I do not know Is an all important key That without it as I am now I will never be just me. So do I go on wondering And trying to find what is lost Or do I accept me as I am And that is all of me I'll ever know.

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