These are the things that no one knows

Don't ask me about myself.

And insofar no one heeds this warning, and one day a background noise of a man asked me;
"What are your interests, what do you do?"
And the truth is:
I get up in the morning, I wonder if I should. I stretch myself into being and things that be. I think, and I don't know what I think, or what the sun will say.I don't believe in contrived goodness. I believe in being mean, I believe in telling everyone to f**k off because they'll always be knocking at your door otherwise asking you to hold their hand on their walk off the next mountain but you know you'd go along but no, no I won't because I listen but I'm not hearing everything, I'm not a bowl or a basin. Oh, it's true as they say I'm sensitive and that my nerves are close to the surface of my skin. I am soft, and as those say, delicate, but I am infinite. I believe in love and force, because I won't watch death because I'm not afraid and sure they'll look at you and laugh when you see right, but you see right through them. I'm unwell, I fold myself inward trying to become small, so very small as life goes through me, but as I become small the worlds fall together, every star could fit in my hand. I sleep through days because the nights are alone, I don't feel this loneliness, and so this sets me apart from you, but I'm more than the I. I am the I, but I am also you. I stumble into funny things with strange plants with no names and I put my hands to the dirt and make them grow into flowers.
My arrogance is my salvation. I like to watch the lights and imagine other lights and other places and other people watching lights and cities full, and people and maps. I like songs that remind  me of rain.
These are the things that no one knows.