is my beautiful ego

an imperfect nothing?

am i nothing, going nowhere

with nothing?

nothing?

perfect, Buddha

i can’t hold on to nothing

that’s too loose, man

i was the second newborn

to cry along with baby one

in the maternity ward

and my father smiled

see, i’ve grown smart with self-image

and conceit at my center

i exist because

i believe in meaning—

i am someone

going somewhere

with something

—something!

even if it’s gilded robes and vanity

imperfect perfection or

perfect imperfection

is my beautiful ego

and i hold on tight

see, Buddha— see?