The Loss of Identity

I stopped caring about my identity.

Dude, I wish you would've known me.
I was all about "I'm this" "I'm not that" ...
Intentionally putting myself into categories.
A perfectly crafted prison.

Decorating myself with the perfect 'costumes,'
making sure that everyone 'got it.'
Making sure everyone 'knew' who I was,
even though I was none of those things.
Had no idea who I was.
I clung so tight to this 'identity,'
and identity marked by confusion and oxymorons.
An identity that basically made no sense.

I had this because I was hiding,
from myself.
And protecting myself from you, from the world.
From the hurt.

And at some point in the past couple years, I just stopped caring.
Stop trying to identify myself, or define myself,
because the action began to define itself,
and not define itself all at the same time.

It all just stopped mattering,
because of the constant willingness
and open mindedness,
I let myself be constantly redefined by something else
a lot more powerful than me.
And through all of this, lies a foundation,
a consistency, a rhythm,
no longer marked be 'me' or 'my-self.'

Where did I go?
Well, I am right here.