Minus Identity Who I Am

Plagued by incandescent ferments I grapple zealously, with tower blocks of titan topsoil myriads, and melange of eccentric foibles, considered by some to be a minus, but without this composite what is my real nature? reflection on a manifest mettlesome being, leaden skewed traffic jam’s tailback of relative prospect, normalcy a supernatural synonym, apperception fringed by lambent twinkling, that tantalising twirl of clustered countless spirits, quirk-some inklings seem a weakness, whilst chasing galaxy of plus point, self-ostracised by atypical apparently conflicting plethora, grave as in shadow id, tombstone stark exit but salutary motto, etched eerily by one staunch depiction, on catalytic other form of self, unresolved human traits in multiples, indicative of lack, lack of bearing? me that nutrient rich plot that has, this wondrous green blade potential compass, me as sumptuous summer gust freshener, of inner coastal home philosopher’s dwelling, me an endless random version, of charcoal midnight gleeful ghost, blithely skimming chimney tops on deep quest, yet nascent dawn usher lurks within, augurs well for that sound ultimate coexistence, despite an underbelly of niggling doubt Hopefully I’m kind at heart but rare traits might just scupper thoughtful aim