Who Am I? Poem by Micron

Please write a poem on who you are?
An online friend requested from afar
What? I’m worthless, nothing was my thought.
But that wasn’t the answer that she sought.
After being so nicely asked - I couldn’t resist
So I sat down to make a painful idea list.
Who is anyone? That’s the key I thought
After brainstorming I really felt distraught.
Perhaps I should start age, sex, location?
But it doesn’t describe me or clear frustration
These things won’t touch the surface of anyone
The real inner me - Now that would be gone
Is it your heart? My brain? How I think?
Maybe the fact sometimes I feel life’s down the sink?
Or maybe my feelings what makes me happy or sad?
And those irritating things that make me so mad?
No its I love art and music and a good song
Or maybe that I often get things so very wrong
Perhaps that I care far too easily?
Or that I’m a workaholic in metallurgy
Work is a great excuse to hide
Avoiding things crashing in with the tide
Perhaps it I like black and white films, Laurel and Hardy for one
I admit I have all their films they are so much fun
Maybe its that I often cry at hearing sad song
And get lumps in my throat is that wrong?
Maybe its whatever I do never seems enough
To make people contented is continually tough
On a game said I search truth, honour in mankind
I hoped but oh so rare these days I find.
Perhaps it’s the fact I trust too easily over and over again
Only to be disappointed and caught in the lions den?
I love playing clarinet and sax on times
And in the past have arranged sometimes
Yes I know I’m gullible and often don’t see
Those that not friendly good interest in me
Maybe it’s that I cringe when I turn on the news
For the hurt, badness injustice in the world does me bruise
It’s my wild parties and friends all about- that’s a lie
I was joking and think can’t go there and sigh
Silly hug books of verse for peeps I hand-make
Most people think childish and laugh guess to do is my mistake
I know, it’s that I believe there’s good in everyone
However much they behave hurt me I forgive- is that wrong?
I believe in good and truth eventually being shown
Even if for ages it was carefully hidden not known
Maybe that’s I’m just a dreamer of impossible things
Of unspoilt nature- mountains, woodlands and streams
That I love books and yes I am a bookworm
And I’m very ticklish – yes I do squirm
But its my heart and soul that I see
They shape my thought actions and me
But I canot judge my own- its just not ideal
For its for others to decide on that I feel
Yes all these make me who I am
Micronette, Micron, Jancov or Jan
And poem I write comes from my head
And I guess show my feelings and stuff I dread
My inner thoughts I guess must come through
They all express my feelings putting them in view