Uncertainty

The second poem I've ever written. Somewhat confessional.

Like an infant peering up in awe

at a mighty oak before him

I want to be known and to be remembered.

How do I find my voice? The hope

which is the air that fills my lungs

day in and day out -- is it false?

Is it a gas slowly choking me and

killing me from the inside?

Who I am -- my soul, feeling as though

it's been contained in a small space

for years on end, grows restless. 

What will happen when it's let loose?

Will it thrive and renew the life around it?

Or will it dissipate into common oxygen,

forgotten sooner than its entrance

into the world is even made known?

Is who I am even worth a damn? 

Author's Note

My first experience writing in free verse. I'm still new to writing poetry, so please, any tips will be welcomed.