Aimless Wanderer

Am I an aimless wanderer powerless against the obstacles that the world seems to throw, Or the obstacles my mind make-believe? Does my wondering seek knowledge without a real question, a wanting without a real destination, a vision without a real image? How do I see myself? Do I really see myself as anything, or what I am suppose to be, or as something else unspeakable. Breaking the rules that have already seemed to have been broken and wanting to stare a world in the face that has no eyes is an idealistic feat. Have I succumbed to self-pity, self-loathing, defeat? My mind and soul seems to wander aimlessly aerially and seem together, yet detached. Now the wind I use to listen to seems now to be so judgmental and no longer comforting. An adult that does not remember the passing of childhood or the passing into adulthood, I remain.