A question asked by others To get to know each other more.
Instead, I ask this to myself Every night.
“Who am I?”
Oftenly asked by many.
Anyone would want to know. It’s a quick to ask question. But it’s a lot more serious than it seems
I lay there in the corner of my room Where my bed has been placed And I ponder…
“Who am I?”
Well, There are different Ways to answer this questions.
You are what others see you as.
Or is it Maybe what you want Them you to see you as. I’ve asked other people that seem to Know me.
“Who do you think I am?”
“Who do you see see me as?”
“Who am I?”
I get multiple answers. All Of them sounding quite…
Simular.
“You’re my friend”
“You’re cool.”
“You're smart”
“Talented”
“Beautiful”
“More than average”
Of course I take the compliments, But why do I feel as if they’re not telling me the true? Why don’t I except what the speak into existence?
At the end of the day, I Go back home to take a shower And cry, just so I can Sleep through the night.
Getting my body prepared for the Mental battle of tomorrow, I lay in my Bed without any clothing. Only a blanket Is covering me from exposure.
“Who am I?”
“Is it me or someone else? Who else could It be? Nobody else can control me Nor the way I feel. Who am I trying to be? Nobody I hope.
I am my own role model And only I know the truth! Nobody knows me!
Hell!
Nobody ever did know who the **** I was because…
I don’t even know.”
The question looks more And more threatening and Vigilant than ever. The pain No longer stays in bed,
Nor in the shower,
Not at home even.
It stalks me everywhere I go and Turns up any **** time it pleases. It hurts my head the more it bonds me.
“Who am I?”
Another throbbing headache so strong It makes my heart skip a beat. So strong it makes me puke.
Or is that just my finger in the back of my throat looking for results.
I’m trying to solve the equation. What? Another solution? Maybe.
It’ll work for the time being, but What if somebody finds out?
Love?
If only someone can prove my value. If somebody really did admire me, they’d Be with me forever. They’d **** me and say…
“I love you.”
Nothing ever stays hidden for too long. But at least he still loved me For three years and counting. Hopefully.
Longer and longer More and more The question is pounding at The door with a couple of friends.
“Who am I?” “What am I useful for?” “Why am I even here?” “Do you even need to be alive?”
“What is my purpose?”
Eventually, they welcome themselves in.
Great. Now more question I need a dumb answer for. I eventually asked for some help.
Therapy. A professional. Finally The help in need. Maybe I’ll Get a reasonable answer.
It didn’t last too long anyways.
I got something out of it tho. “Anytime you feel frustrated. Write it down. Nobody has to read it. Nobody needs to know. It’s yours to keep.”
It’s mine to keep. It was mines to keep all this time! This pen and this paper isn’t Doing anything at all!
All it is is just extra room For my brain to fill in more
****
QUESTIONS!
So here I am. Haven’t asked for Physical human help in months Because “God will answer you prayers.” When he feels like it.
Well guess what?! You’re running Out of time and I’m losing more Than just patients!
I’M LOSING MY MIND!
The writing then turns vague dark drawings. The drawing then turn to a knife.
It’s working. Something else is Overpowering that **** question. I’m piercing my skin deeper and Harder than the pain piercing my brain.
I see brown, Then red, Then black. Cutting so deep till I fell asleep.
It’s the only that’s really sustaining me. Well it is just a substitute since…
They left me. No. Since he took them. Away from me.
First my grandpa of cancer Then my uncle Big Red from a stroke The my great grandmother of “natural causes” And another uncle, Paul of…
You guessed it! CANCER!
He’s taken them from me the most painful way possible when They were my rock. My main support.
Grandpa was my humor Grandma was my teacher Big red was my therapist And Uncle Paul my very first LGBT partner
I knew who I was then. Stable. Sensable. Reasonable. “Who am I?”
“I don’t know.” Someone once told me…
“People die because God just saw A flower in his beautiful garden and Decided to bring it inside his home.”
They would have been fine here. ****! I would have been fine if they were here! All because you thought that these flowers Were SO pretty!
How selfish. You didn’t even need the decor anyways. I don’t know who I am now because of you!
No wait. I know who I am. I’m a African American Bisexual Girl Nobody takes seriously anymore!
I’m anxious, Tired, Hurting, Hiding…
Scared.
I’m scared of my next move. I’m scared of my next question. “Who am I?” turns to “What next?”
The sesx didn’t help. Starving myself failed. The help I had is out of reach. Big Daddy in the sky is unavailable.
And the knife feels duller the More I began to use.
I’m scared I will look At so rope.
I’m scared I will look At some bleach.
I’m scared i will look At an 100 yard drop. Turning into 6 feet underground. But I won’t be there to see that.
I’m scared of never getting my Question answered. I’m scared of not passing a test Or even a resume online That’s actually lying Underneath my chest asking me…