What am I?

A various jumble of bones in a bag

To be hastily treated with care?

Or a dot on a map under one country’s flag

That ripples like waves in the air?

Is the purpose of life just to toil away?

Over subsidies, apps, and strife?
 Or should one worry less about GPA

And try to enjoy his life?
I could spend every day

Making mistakes

The seconds always ticking away

In a couple of decades

I’ll look at my legs

Knowing they’ll break one day

I could waste eighty years

Living in fear

Of the day when my time runs out

Travel thousands of miles

And then with a smile

Somehow find out what life is about

I could get a nice car

A big house on the hills

And a beautiful wife and two kids

The American dream

Or so they say

With everything happening at whim

 The “true me” is a term

That comes with the words

Fearfulness, anger, and pain

After all of the years

Of fearing my life

The importance is what my soul contains

While religious believers

And stock market brokers

Fight ‘till the bad blood is cleansed

It’s an ironic story

That we care about living

When our soul still survives in the end

I could have my nice life

And fight to survive

Against the fate that is too large to see

But the reality is

When all is said and done

What’s on the inside is the true me