Am I an Art Form

Am I an art form
Am I plural
Am I an indentured servant
Am I an attempt to circumvent
Nothingness.
Am I immense,
or frigid, boned,
and pale as a widowed mistress.
Am I a brush stroke
Am I penned
Does my arc run high
Or low;
Between the poles of great promise
And sagging in the gentle rest
Below;
Hammocked, between destiny
And the left field of feelings.
Am I, in a sense
I-ness
Or an "I Am"
Of sufficient size
To rise, buoyant to the surface
Where life awaits with grinning purpose
Am I alright?
Is there much to do about nothing?
Am I quantitized and qualifieded
To a real earthen urgentness, arising
Am I seen, as see-worthy by the eyes of kindness
Blurring all the lines that mark the
Tragic scars
With open arms
And hopeful sounding
Soap-opera-style rousing
In redemption of distressed accounting
and accounted for amountings?