Me

Doe, a deer, a female deer
Ray, a drop of golden sun

Me, a name I call the rational, conscious part of my brain. Freud called this the ego, or self. So what are the parts of me that aren't me? Do my subconscious thoughts share my existance, or just interact with it? Can I (being »me«) assume responsibility for the uncontrolled actions of my id and superego? And if this is »me«, then who the hell are »you«?

'Me! I stay here of course. I always do.'

I finally found that the force at the center of the universe is not me.

Important words to remember for scrabble are: Do Re Me So La Te (Do)

Tell me the truth about me and you!!

Tell me the truth about me and you!!

Sometimes you tell me, that I am no-one.

That's not true. I have no reason to believe you and your false claims any longer.

I am me. I am strong, and grow stronger by the minute.

With every breath I draw, with every step I take, with every word I speak, I become a little more of ME and a little less of YOU.

And in the end, I'll be free.

And there'll be much rejoycing.

Here's me writing on a coupon
the value of me in book form
made strange to a handtowel
nakedly without goods
an angel told me through pads
through a screen the angel
of speech was me

The dance stops. The men walk back to the walls, and talk in low tones or with their hands. There is little conversation, yet everyone seems to be sharing some secret. A woman looks at a small boy wandering away, and he comes back to her.
Strange, I think, and then remember. These people are not sharing words – they are sharing a mood. Everyone is happy. I am so used to white people that it seems strange so many people could be together, and because the night is beautiful outside, and the music is beautiful. I try hard to forget school and white people, and be one of these – my people. I try to forget everything but the night, and it is a part of me...
I look around the room. All the eyes are friendly; they all laugh. No one questions my being here. The drums begin to beat again, and I catch the invitation in the eyes of the old men. My feet begin to lift to the rhythm, and I look out beyond the walls into the night and see the lights. I am happy. It is beautiful. I am home.