You can't define me.
Every day, I look at myself in the mirror, and
judge what others will taunt,
judge what I wish I could erase,
judge how I look on the exterior.
I try to cloak who I am
by putting on layers of bravery,
but, deep down,
I'm hiding insecurity.
You can't define me.
I paint a certain drawing in my head of
how I'm supposed to act
how I'm supposed to talk,
how I'm supposed to look.
Am I being honest, though,
if opinions are controlling me,
these excruciating thoughts
lowering my confidence?
You can't define me.
Nobody can be identical, so why
laugh at my skin color?
laugh at my nationality?
laugh at my differences?
Every day,
hundreds of people get discriminated
for things that they can't control
and these discriminators almost always get away with it.
You can't define me.
It's only part of who I am, so
why do people judge me at first glance?
Why do people not give me a chance?
Why do people drag me down when I'm already falling apart?
My reflection shouldn't be the blueprint
for whom you want me to be
because what matters is what's inside,
the part that you make me feel like I must hide.
Screw mirrors.
No really,
they always show
a false reflection.
3.11.2019
YOU ARE READING
pieces of me: poems
PoetryTo the girl twenty-four hours ago, crying into her pillow and questioning what comes next, you'll be okay. "pieces of me" is a collection of thoughts that make up who I am, inspired by either fictional or real emotions and experiences. Through poetr...
