I Am What I Am

I tossed up whether to include this poem
as it's far from being one of my best.  
I decided that I would as it represents
not just the discovery of poetry, but how
often poets begin and hone their skills
working out what's going on inside them.

I would have been desperate when I wrote this, in a very unhappy marriage, pleasing no one, living in a house I didn't want, doing a job I would never have chosen (you did what your parents thought was best for you in those days, wearing clothes suitable for his mother, and cleaning 50 year old furniture!

The fact that the result below isn't great is probably understandable, but it is authentic.  I was screaming out to be left alone!

I am what I am
There’s no saint inside of me
Some days I do just what I should
And stick to it rigidly
On others days I’m twice as bad
As I could ever be
And manage to mess up my world
Complete and totally

There’s not a saint or sinner here
My inner world is not that clear
There’s nothing black and nothing white
No bad or good to see the light
Just inner bits of muddy grey
That sometimes see the light of day

I am not good
I am not bad
Such little things
Can drive me mad
So
I can’t be what you wish I would
Or even what I know I should
And please don’t ask
I don’t know why

Just remember if you can
I try


Deb Hawken
Second ever poem
1984