Torn between worlds, I ask myself,
What is it like, being me?
Nothing. It requires nothing,
It’s as automatic as one-stop shopping,
Two in one, a conscious being
And me. And yet..
If a different sperm, a different egg,
Would I still look out from these window sockets?
Inside another skull, would I still grasp
with other hands, step with other feet?
What if the doorbell had rung,
Unexpected, even ignored,
Yet altering time by a half second,
Or an eternity?
Would I not exist,
Or would I not-exist?
I have no problem with consciousness,