The Character

 Am I real?
Am I person too complex
To be reduced to numbers?
Or am I just a character,
Someone who's nothing more than a list
Of traits on paper? 

I try to write my life's story,
But the plot won't go 
Where I want it to. 
I just watch, 
Seeing people go about their day,
Doing things for reasons
They could never explain,
For they can only see the inside
Of their own skulls. 

When did this happen?
When did I start role-playing
My own life?
How do I see the truth?
How do I find who I really am?
Or am I wrong?
Do characters only ever exist
Between the pages of a book?