Who am I?
Know my name, my beak, my call.
Feel these ridges, these creases of my face.
See the photos, a collaged and chopped up child hood.
Don't recognize, whose looking at me.
Staring straight down, barrel of a gun.
Who am I?
What lies hide behind these eyes
What truths are too proven,
A heart beating, too broken.
Tattoos run their course, burned blatant against this open chest.
An invisible flame, of course.
Stories set in the scars, aligned in the stars.
An invisible bane, of broken bone.
Who am I?
A child, heart spilt between two homes.
A child, whose fears at the loom of the dark.
Daddy's little solider, Mommy's little soul-der.
A not-so-child anymore.
A introverted loner just on the verge,
Just on the edge of jumping off the ledge.
Life of the life, high of high.
This life it couldn't get any better if it tried.
Am I?
A disorder, person in personification
Label for the weird wired of veins in my brain.
Sinner and a saint,
Say I'm chaotic, but afraid of the changes.
Say I'm neurotic, but I pass through these days.
Who am I?
Am I who I always was,
Who the past written to be,
Am I who, I try so hard to believe.
Is this just a prison of identity?
They say we never really change,
We just become,
More of what we were, of what we are,
What we always will be.
I am...
What I am,
But who is me?
YOU ARE READING
Symptoms
PoetryPoetry. Love. Happiness. Sadness. Depression. Guilt. Regret. Struggle and Confliction. We may all be breathing, we may all have our hearts beating. But these are our vital signs. These are symptoms that prove we're alive.
