I'm Not Me

Call me skitso. This is written to both side of me who often get into arguments about who I am becoming. 

12-8-12
I wish I could throw myself to the wind
and let her take me where she wills.
away from the expectation and plans.
Away from the eyes always watching
ever sliding up and down me
and my life.
I wish I could take for one moment
my own ideas and self
and instill in them
strength,
enough to last the winter.
For winter's cold harsh icyness
will give my sureless self
a testing blow.
Blow, the winds can and will.
Break me, they may try.
I'm not who I am!
I'm hodgepodge and jacked.
cracked and scarred.
What else did you expect?
I'm not sure what I want,
but I know what I don't.
My reflection lately has been hazy and unclear.
Are those my eyes, or just stars?
Are these my hands,
or tools of another man?
My fashion and taste
doesn't fit a type.
The words I say and how,
may not be restricted to a locale.
I like Diet Coke and lipstick.
I like being alone, but I get lonely.
Who is behind my mind, telling me what to read?
Who cares?
I'm going to be me,
because I'm not you.
So as far as you are concerned,
I'm not me.