Could you be more shameless? Than to struggle to pop out the bubble of nameless?

I'm aimless but directed, my goals are set, erected, but yet to be perfected,

It's infective to sort through these wreckless electives,

There's nothin to toughen the choice but these options,

And no one's stoppin me from dreamin,

I'm possessed with unrest, mind caressed by the demons,

Eyes gleamin, like coal steamin or burnin,

The forks in the road provide learnin from turnin,

And I yearn to arrive, bruised, battered, not shattered and still alive,

At some place in my mind I can rent to own, a happy space or a place when I'm no longer content to roam,

When the foam of the tides, bubbles away as palm trees sway, and the breeze is the only connection to things from miles away,

And I become an island, truely in and of myself, with more exports than imports of that sort of natural wealth.