Dave Bonta's short poem starts with a blunt question: who am I to live in unity? The speaker doubts whether it's right to think of themselves as a single, settled person. The word "unity" is the thing under suspicion, because the poem suggests that a self is really made of many others, "all the others / we carried with us." Notice the slip into "we." The speaker isn't quite alone inside their own head.
The last lines turn stranger and more dreamlike. A mask "remembering / things acted years ago / in my sleep" suggests that the face we show the world has its own memory, separate from our waking mind. Past roles and old selves seem to resurface at night, beyond our control.
The mood is uneasy and quietly searching. The speaker doesn't panic, but sounds unsure and a little guilty, as if insisting on one tidy identity means shutting out the rest of who they have been.