If ifs and buts were candy and nuts, the English language would make less sense than ever

If

I am not who I should be
Who I could be
Who I would be
If I'd ever give myself a chance.
I'm not who I thought I'd be
Who I ought to be
Who I was always taught to be
Though perhaps that one's not so bad.
I still believe in destiny
That the best of me
The rest we need
Lies somewhere up ahead,
If only the life I lead
The path I knead
The words and deeds
I make will let me find it.
I live most days to hurt me
Beg others to desert me
If I only would not curtly
Dismiss everything but my pride.
Most days I doubt myself
I tout myself
I out myself
As a hypocrite of the first order.
I'm paralyzed the rest of times
This nest of grimes
The best of crimes
Is this inertia made of guilt,
It robs me of myself
I'm somewhere on a shelf
I've locked myself in hell, if
I could only find the key.
Will I ever see the rest of me?
Have someone to lie next to me?
Believe that I can be made free
From this incaptivity that captivates me still?