This isn't I

This nine to five job
makes me fidget and sigh
I am not this, this isn't I

A life lived in want
days spent in a lie
I am not this, nor is this I

Thoughts upon paper
appearing to fly
For all that I wish is, I wish this be I

A weaver of words
bringing laughter or cries
This is my wish, that some day, this be I

For a poet to be
I'll continue to strive
If I could do this then I'd feel alive

And if I get there
the question then lies
Can I call me this and if so tell me why