Empty Holster

I think I've lost my sense of self,
no conniving inner monologue persisting,
maybe that's a good thing
is what societies insisting.
But I kinda miss ill wishes
behind eyes glistening and near misses,
when I've spoken hiding concealed fists
I've only dismissed as reality hits me.
Now I'm not sure that I even get me..

Empty headed, not a lot of new paint
tends to stick to this pallet,
the old is wearing thin, throat scorched
and singed from singing the same old ballads.
I'm stuck, dumb as a truck,
now I see my old hatred as valid
but I can't muster it up and
still don't wish anybody but me to have it.

I buckle down and eat my salad,
guzzle brown rice, green veggies
and chicken in hopes of talent,
but maybe this light is fading.

Maybe I'm meant to puke the old me up,
pin my past and stab it, purge it from
my chest, skin it as rabbits,
move on like the rest,
accept that maybe I can't
have lost it if I never really had it.
Head back, to view the stars, belly up,
no longer feeling like a savage.
Maybe I now am and always was
just average,
no maverick.