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.

I wonder who I am
to you. In your eyes?
When you hold me
When you kiss me
When you touch me

Who am I in your hands?
What’s my name, what’s my story?
Surely you and I must have a sad one
Surely I must have a sad one
For you to have been so willing
So ready to let me
Hold you
Kiss you
Touch you.

Do we look alike? Is it in my eyes
In my arms? When I hold you
In my lips? When I kiss you
In my fingers? When I touch you

Maybe we walk the same talk the same
Maybe it’s all in the way I chose to handle you
When you were alone
In the dark
How you were held
How you were kissed
How you were touched

But what if all this time
You thought that I was
Holding
Kissing
Touching
You.

headache.
bout of boredom.
momentary warmth.
chilled walk.
a stare.
a flickering of the eyes.
a name on the tip of my tongue.
it comforts me.

smells.
i remember those well.
and with them come memories too great, they bring tears to my eyes.
they are clogging my tear ducts, causing traffic,
causing blurry vision,
taking my eyes off the road God has lead me on.

who am i?
not who i was when i graduated high school
not who i was when Elias died.
not who i was 9 months ago, when Africa punched me in the heart.
not even who i was yesterday.

change is constant.
the question of tomorrow hangs in the air.
will it be better?
worse?
boring?

but i walk anyway, making myself move forward,
making myself take it in,
because i know that soon this will all be over,
and this chapter, this heavy chapter,
will be finished,
and will be regarded as a blurry memory
where i cant remember who i was, now.

lord, let me take it in.
let me smell you,
and remember who you are.
let me feel you with my memory..
and staple you to my agenda for the blurried tomorrows.