The me that is me is not the me that you see,
The me that is me is most definitely
NOT a towering sturdy oak tree,
Or a sprightly little bumblebee,
Not a hump-backed whale,
Nor a red velvet cupcake many days stale.
Neither a clownfish all orange and white,
Nor a hammerhead shark with a toothy bite.
For the me that is me and the me that you see
Is a me that is indescribably, exclusively, me.
The you that is you, well, here’s something new.
The you that is you, well, I haven’t a clue.
Are you one color, or possibly two?
Are you green and red? Or maybe just blue?
Maybe not a color, perhaps a drop of dew?
Or perhaps you’re a memory of someone I once knew?
Are you both the past and the future too?
What is it, what is it that makes you you?
Maybe like me you haven’t a clue,
Maybe like me, you’re inexpressible too.