To know thyself

Would that I had never known me!
To have been ignorant, so many years,
And died a blissful death,
Without ever having met me
For there was hardly room enough before me.
And now
     I choke, stifled by the presence of one who will never leave.
He is always here.
And I am always here.
And we duel for control over my body.
     My mind.
          My everything.
               My nothing.

And

And does inspiration spring,
     like hope eternal from some unknown watcher in the sky?

Have you seen them too?

From a sudden burst of inspiration from work come these new poems. They are more or less about the same thing as everything else I write: Nothing.

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I have seen the eyes that stare recklessly through the windows.
Have you seen them too?
They watch, waiting for the day when sparks fly like fury from your fingers.
They long to see the graceful swoops
   The flowing twirls.
Then they steal it
   From right under your pen.
      They grab.
And you are left
   With nothing.

To know thyself, part 2

"Live with yourself,"
    They say.
"Love yourself,"
    They admonish.
"Learn your true nature, and revel in it."
This is an impossible request,
One lightly given
    And never fulfilled.

He is ignorant who believes
You can live by yourself
    With yourself,
    For yourself.
       And still BE yourself.
Why do they demand this of me?