Creation no Expectation

I have no direction, no discipline, no purpose beyond surrendering to moments of creative transference. I shed the need for an artistic identity. There is no singer, dancer, composer, or artist in me, those are only words. Words are boxes that I cannot fit inside of. I wish I could. I wish it were so simple. I wish words could solidify my identity and sense of purpose and give me direction. Words only mask the confusion. I have been long lost, and I will not find my way again to a place that one word can contain. I am here, in a cacophony of words which I often try on, one by one, just to see if they give me clues as to who I am and what I'm to do. So far the words briefly sooth my raw nerves, but soon enough bounce back into the whirl around me and again I grasp for answers. There will never be answers. I am here to simply dabble and stumble and perhaps if I can remember how, to play. I am nothing and everything. What you call me, what I call myself, is not really who I am. I am beyond the words, my identity means nothing.