Me And Myself Poem by Phil Soar

I sometimes doubt it myself
Am I really Sixty-Six years old?
Because sometimes it feels like I am still only Five

"Where are you going, how long will you be? "
I get asked these questions constantly
Will I ever do as I wish, and be free?

Sixty-Six years of being asked what I'm doing
I doubt I ever ask that of anyone
Is it that I am just not interested, or letting them be free?

I doubt anyone understands, thinking I might need guidance
They wonder why my phone is on silent
Can they not guess?

I would say hello caller, but the reply is "Where are you"
And off we go again, maybe I don't want them to know
Maybe I just want to sit, watch the day pass

Until perhaps my age is Sixty-Seven
But that is amost another year away
More questions of the same variety, asking where I am

I am here, but I am not free to do as I please
So many people to answer to
So many years

Me, myself and I
Watching life go by
Are there more questions than answers?