Strange Bedfellows Poem by David Beckham

When I awake its usually just ‘you’ and 'I' talking back and forth
And then there's ‘you’, you always seem to pop in uninvited to drown out ‘you’
I can’t seem to make sense of ‘you’; because the moment I speak, ‘you exist’...
As though to say, ‘you’ are different from ‘you’ whom I was talking with a moment ago
And different from 'me', the sole inhibitor of this chaos

What then is it in my present state that sets me aside from a ‘Looney’? I can’t even discuss!
Because when ‘you’ and ‘you’ and ‘him’ and ‘me’ and ‘them’ all engage in a conversation …
Not surprisingly, it all at once turns into chaos with more tossing and turning in bed
Poor ‘head’, whom has to put up with all this...
And the unenviable task of switching between which voice goes first, second, last or never

Yet it’s a moment like today that seems to bring even more chaos
That other strange bedfellow; who I can’t seem to identify, is voicing out yet again
Albeit rather mutely...
He shepherds my conscience and intuition; and assures me that he already knows what I want to become
In that sense, I pleasantly seek him out more than I enjoy seeking you all

But I have to be me; and fight my instincts and declare a war upon myself and my life
My Big Bang chaos; with ‘him’ it always ends like this, '…See, I told you so'
You tempt me to follow through on my dreams, so much so that …
The riches and fame I desire, better be there at the end of the road
Or, my head would be hurting for real!