Makeshift

I'm living in a makeshift house of glass,
Pretending to be someone that I'm not,
Explaining that I'm cool, when I am hot
And bothered, baseborn and of higher class,
Diseased and healthy, energy and mass,
A mass of contradictions: footloose, caught
In my own web, free of corruption, bought,
Fish in the ocean, pigeons on the grass.

The face I see, at every morning's shave,
Has two sides, like my burden of a soul,
My heart, my argument. It is my goal
To find a single point of view to save.
If I could make one wish, the boon I crave
Is making my poor makeshift being whole.