Oct 2013
when people meet strangers it’s only normal to ask “who are you?”, and the next sentence verbally put out will be what they call First impressions. when people meet strangers it’s only normal to ask “who are you?” and then what do we say? when i was 3 and in my pram i answered “i’m a girl”, when i was 8 and at a dinner with my mother i answered “i’m her daughter”, when i was 16 and at a party i suddenly found the words choked in my throat.
who am i?
that night i went to bed with crawling skin and whispering thoughts armed with hydrofluoric acid that nibbled away at my soul as the clock ticked by. painful seconds, minutes, hours passed, and i decided i couldn’t. that night i spent the remaining hours sitting in front of my mirror manually taking myself apart like a jigsaw puzzle that seemed to fit but never really did. there i sat, in the heavy, thick atmosphere of confusion, anger and suffocation.
who am i?
i arranged the pieces of me neatly on the silver tray― the oesophagus with years of corrosion by food that i reversed back up my throat so forcefully i made gagging look professional; the horrifyingly thin skin on my wrist with the twisted definitions of Art i thought would release the emotions in me. is there a word for putting back a shattered sculpture only to throw it down from the twenty first floor? is there a word for being forcefully submerged in bitter water and trying to breathe, only to realize you can’t? there is only so much you can lock into twenty six letters, but this is not about me.
this is not about me.
this is about the people who have lost grip of the kite strings attached to themselves and can proudly declare “I am a lawyer”, “I am a doctor”, “I am a teacher”, “I am an artist”, “I am a singer” but can not convince themselves about their empty eyes. this is about injecting those already stained with insecurity with self esteem, pouring emotions and feelings into their hollow shells of bodies, only then can we shrill with satisfaction “I have contributed to the world!” this is about dreaming of a day when people are asked “who are you?” and the answer will come flowing from deep within unlocked ventricles. we will refuse to be contained in blurry, grainy. colorless film with faces blended onto one another.
this is about dreaming of a day where mirrors are looked down upon and weight is merely a number.
who am i?
that night i went to bed with crawling skin and whispering thoughts armed with hydrofluoric acid that nibbled away at my soul as the clock ticked by. painful seconds, minutes, hours passed, and i decided i couldn’t. that night i spent the remaining hours sitting in front of my mirror manually taking myself apart like a jigsaw puzzle that seemed to fit but never really did. there i sat, in the heavy, thick atmosphere of confusion, anger and suffocation.
who am i?
i arranged the pieces of me neatly on the silver tray― the oesophagus with years of corrosion by food that i reversed back up my throat so forcefully i made gagging look professional; the horrifyingly thin skin on my wrist with the twisted definitions of Art i thought would release the emotions in me. is there a word for putting back a shattered sculpture only to throw it down from the twenty first floor? is there a word for being forcefully submerged in bitter water and trying to breathe, only to realize you can’t? there is only so much you can lock into twenty six letters, but this is not about me.
this is not about me.
this is about the people who have lost grip of the kite strings attached to themselves and can proudly declare “I am a lawyer”, “I am a doctor”, “I am a teacher”, “I am an artist”, “I am a singer” but can not convince themselves about their empty eyes. this is about injecting those already stained with insecurity with self esteem, pouring emotions and feelings into their hollow shells of bodies, only then can we shrill with satisfaction “I have contributed to the world!” this is about dreaming of a day when people are asked “who are you?” and the answer will come flowing from deep within unlocked ventricles. we will refuse to be contained in blurry, grainy. colorless film with faces blended onto one another.
this is about dreaming of a day where mirrors are looked down upon and weight is merely a number.
meant it to be performed as Spoken poetry
