when i finally...
slept with my self,
my self called me a whore!

and i spent weeks
on the porch,
fumbling in my pockets...

for my identity.

i stopped a passing stranger
and asked him my name...
he pointed to the ground,

and muttered, 'other'!

i gave a wino my last dollar,
pulled down my hat.
and walked off alone...

but i could hear the footsteps,
could feel the heavy breathing...
and turning to demand...

saw my self!

Eric Cockrell

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/my-self-7/