Who am i?
It a question that stumps me all the time,
I am a girl..........i know that much i think
Sometimes i am sweet, other times bitter as lime.

I believe i am sane,
I mean insane,
Honestly, Its all the same.
But who am i?

I am mistreated because i am not like others,
I am different they say,
What's wrong with that?
Isn't that a good thing?
I don't know i guess we must all be the same in every way.
I might be that one rare black rose stuck in the thorns that no one bothers to touch because its too much work to get it out,
But i hope i am special too,
Who am i?


A girl going through identity crisis,
Her emotions shattered like broken pieces,
There's no dry places left to cry,
Who am i?  

                                                               ­                                  Jonesy 2016©

(BACKGROUND)

Some insight into my life,
By academic "stage" and country:

British Kindergarten in England,
Swiss Elementary in Switzerland,
International MS in England,
French HS, then Int'l HS in Korea,
Undergraduate Studies in NJ, USA,
(3 month-residence in Korea),
(8-month residence in Hong Kong),
Graduate studies in QC, Canada.

--------------------------------------------------------­----

I have shattered my identity.
Frequently. Involuntarily.

I have undergone assimilation.
Socially. Psychologically.

I have encountered discrimination.
Directly. Racially.

I have endured isolation.
Grievingly. Impotently.

I have ill-wished on others.
Subconsciously. Unintentionally.

HOWEVER –

I have learned to be human.
Individually. Collectively.

I have discovered empathy.
Emotionally. Compassionately.

I have gained knowledge.
Culturally. Geographically.

I have acquired expertise.
Intellectually. Linguistically.

I have become a citizen.
Locally. Globally.

Perhaps we who are born and meant to move,
Are intended to, and exist to locomote forever,
Walking lands, sailing oceans, mastering the world.

I’ll live my life in a way that
no people will notice my absence
that no people will care about my presence

I’ll live my life in a way
I’m just a floating spirit -
I’ll come and go, just like the rain

Rain because
I still want be to
of a certain burden;

Rain because
you’ll still see traces of me
even though I’ve stopped coming

And then
I’ll evaporate
no longer nuisance

But I’ll remind you
from time and again
through my resonance

And on certain days
you will love me

And on most days after
you will miss me better

In a relationship
I'm not equipped
I'm too empathic,
The change is drastic
When in a union
I become a chameleon
I adapt
Till I'm trapped
I give to live
Until I find
My mind
Is gone again
I push away
My love it strays
In a daze
Stumbling
Fumbling
We're done
I run
To find clarity
My identity
Alone
At home
I yearn
To learn
Solidarity
Sincerity
For me
To be
Able to see
Entirely
My identity
As a singular
Entity
You see
It's not you
It's me
That needs
Protection
From your affection
That I lose
When I choose
Not to mingle
I need to be
Single

Here's the thing--
I don't like to lie.
So, if you asked me where I am from,
I'd have to assess you and your prejudices before announcing in a single breath --

"I am a Malayali from Bombay raised in Saudi Arabia."

My identity comes in as a triple threat.
And people treat me like an escaped convict
"Oh, how many burqas do you own?"
"Four, and they're still not enough to save me from your ridiculous questions."

I don't like to lie.
So, I'll tell you I've had a terrible day
and the best thing that happened to me today was lunch.

I will voluntarily admit that my feet hurt in those shoes
And I'd rather be at home.
But, my pen refused to stop writing.

I choose not to wrap my truths in acceptability
Because my identity does not need to be graded
(not like I deserve less than an A+)
I decided to let my bottom sit on a throne in my own mind
Rather than at the feet of self-proclaimed lords of the universe
I'll fix my sights on what's here today.

I'm a queen of my own will;
Of shoes that fit
and jeans that never will.

I am also confused and I write to confuse some more.
Maybe I'll just wrap myself in words
And hand myself over to you and say --
"Congrats! It's a story."

Who Am I?

Am I the mistakes I've made?
Am I the scars made with a blade?
Am I insanity?
Am I the bad side of humanity?
Am I the inches around my waist?
Am I supposed to be easily erased?
Am I the imperfections I see every day?
Am I the monster that tried to take my life away?

Or...

Am I the books I've read?
Am I the love I spread?
Am I the dreams I've made?
Am I all those kind words I've said?
Am I the bright light in a world so dark?
Am I the bonfire spark?
Am I the creativity I emit?
Am I the hidden soul and spirit?

Who Am I?

I like to do those quizzes
in glossy bubbles that you
find
in Cosmopolitan and
Elle and
Seventeen.

Which girl should I be?

Should I
dump paper flowers
on my milkmaid braid?
Long skirts, long chains, and
Beatles on my radio
during their ‘Indian’ phase?

Should I
paint it all
black, strip life down to
a *******,
blare punk at full
scream,
and cram my toes in ratty Docs,
smash all emotion
into smithereens?

Should I
sugar-coat my mouth with
Maybelline, button up
collars, laughs, opinions,
read books on behaving
just like a
daydream,
sip teas, bake cookies, aim for
Ivy Leagues?

Which gilded box do I crawl
into?
Which skin to don
this week?
Which fashion editor-friendly
stereotype to fulfil?

Which girl should I be?

Hmm, let me see… Who should I be today?
The person other people think I am
or maybe someone they would like to see.
I could attempt to stand out in a crowd,
easy though it would be to just blend in.
What if I flip a coin to choose between
the good, bad, dark, strong, and weak parts of me.
Of course, I could always just be myself
although, most days, I don’t know who that is.