Who Am I

Questions to one's self...

This is a poem that I wrote years ago. It seems incomplete, because it is. I never finished it and I don't feel to finish it now. Maybe someone could help.

Who am I?
Am I a sack of skin filled with bones?
Or am I some dreadful thing, with no life's goals?
Do I have purpose and meaning to anyones life?
Or do I take up space, dwelling in turmoil and strife?

Whom am I?
Am I a singer, a dancer, a music player?
Or, am I a writer, a thinker, a contemplator?
Am I a recluse, a hermit, one that stays inside?
Do I keep the curtains to my soul closed, letting no one abide?

Who am I?
Do I live what I preach, preach what I teach?
Will I keep those around close, or push them just past arm's reach?
Is my soul rich and happy, while my pocket's empty inside?
Or are my pockets filled with gold, while I willingly allow my soul to meet it's demise?

Who am I?