she's gone like the stars in the morning time
a few left to make you smile
never enough to overwhelm.
she's fine like the sweet escape of time
they call her name
she says i'm running away.
she's felt so deep
like a trench where soldiers laid
so awful it was to lay with them.
she's kind as flowers are pink
sometimes they are
and sometimes you have to look inside.
she's rough like jagged stones
beach hair tousled from the breeze
"baby," she says "come back to me."
she's sick of deception
who knows her name
"please get away from me" says she.
she's me.  
cant you see?

I am the light between the naked branches.
You stare out at me for answers
but this is only a slow morning
not a requited prayer
You see the birds, benevolent
and we smile at their freedom.

I am
A daughter, a sister, a woman
A teenager, a deep thinker, an individual
A friend, a fighter, a protector

I am
A believer in justice
A ferocious warrior
A force to be reckoned with

I am
Strong, determined, stubborn
Loyal, trustworthy, steadfast
Powerful, seeing, undenied

I am
Hearing, consoling, knowing
Feeling, never kneeling
Unreeling, seething, seeking

I am
A wielder of justice
My blade is my tongue
Dripping with poison
Blazing with righteous wrath

- Jay M
September 7th, 2021

I am?
Be Still.
Be Love.
Be Peace.
Walk with Faith.
I Am  Peace.
I Am  Love.
I Am  Still.
I Am.

I am unfinished.
I am not yet me.
I am not complete.

I am not who I was yesterday.
I am afraid of who I’ll be tomorrow.
I am unrecognizable.

This is not my face.
There are not my hands.
These are not my words.

I am a paradox.
I do not exist.
I am hidden from myself.

I am joy.
I am pain.
I am an enigma.

How do I know who I am
when that fact changes
every day
every hour
every minute

Do I exist as a point
or as a timeline

I am who I will be in twenty years
and as the little girl who held up
three fingers when she said
the word five.

I am a mystery.
I am an open book.
I am myself.

Dear Diary, perhaps you might tell me: "What Do You See?"

Cause the mirrors offer a reflection, that just cannot be: An eighteen year old boy, who's both happy and healthy.

Dear Diary, Dear... Who? Perhaps you might credit the broken creature that penned you. The one that inflicted these tears and tears; these crude reflections... recreations of its own scars and pains.

Dear Diary, Dear... Who? This question is one, that you wonder too. Perhaps ironic, as the answer is known only by you; just call me, Dear Who.

I am the boy who sits at the back of the class; I am the myth and legend, that you have never heard laugh.

I am the eloquent, who so seldom speaks "Good day." and "Goodbye."
I am the b r o k e n, though you will never see me; p a r t i a l or cry.

I am the Lie.

I am the Lie, well housed in the illusion of an ever-present smile.

I am the wary traveller, exhausted yet still encouraging others to walk the extra mile.

I am the dying and ill, who screams to others. "Keep surviving and living, hold fast to your will; life once truly lived, has both bad and good."

I am a human... for better or worse. I am a duality to all others; either a blessing or a curse.

I am a song sang, though others remember only a verse... I am a play, that has been exhaustively rehearsed.