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Brittany Ann Jan 29
I can hear the way someone is able

to hold the notes in a harmony

like the angels themselves sing

within them from the heavens.

I can see the way a light shines

in the corners of someone's eyes

as they hold the hand of a patient

knowing that is exactly where they're meant to be.

I can feel each graceful stroke

of an artist's paintbrush

where their body and whole being meets.

And all these moments,

I admit,

have made me envious

of their absolute surety.

I have become so engulfed by a life

that is not made to be my own.

Wanting desirably to have the assurance

of a solid purpose like theirs.

But in doing so, I have lost focus

of the recognizable aspects of myself.

Aspects that deserved to be admired

by my very own senses.

For, I can hear the way the softness of my voice

is able to ease the mind

of a troubled soul.

I see the way a light shines

in my child's eyes when she looks at me

before her.

I can feel each graceful stroke

of the pencil I hold where

my body and whole being meets.

And all of these moments,

I must admit,

are just the beginning

to what is my surety.
Brittany Ann Jan 29
I appear in my truest form.

Never tainted by the hands

of what others want to

craft me to be.

Never forged into a byproduct

from the assembly line of life.

I face this world head on

and straightforwardly.

Planting all of myself into

the foundation of the Earth

I stand upon.

And I never falter

with the cowering of

impressionable minds.

I hold steady.

I remain pure.

I appear in my truest form

for all those to see.

Refusing to repair parts

of myself

that are not damaged.

Allowing my soul to be

the graceful hands of an artist

who paints the canvas

of my world

through my eyes.

Mmm life of stress, no rest. Nothang but Struggle, I ponder why it seems
trouble. No one
knows he
struggled, Dadda sa'd tide stays not longer. Weather wiggled unstable'.
Clouds appear awesome and the top of the skies smell so handsome. Top on the
peak of
world. Above adhere golden stones of light. Realistically loyal
to life.
Optimistically humanitarian.
more to life
Destitute, if there's any infrastructural,
love is, spread her wings she learnt to soar.
Human is made, none cultural.
Who did it save?
Transformation does not come without
Power of love create solidarity.
'4gi'e me' f'r my flaws already bow' my head. I wish
more freedom as free as tree (s) fixate hove on
Cloudnine as I'm high.

Kristin Dec 2020
I am not the black sheep
I am not the odd duck

I am not the rebel child
I am not the prodigal daughter

Who am I then?
Well...that's a complicated question

I am not your archetypes or storylines
I am not your bad decisions or projections, your should-s

I am
I am what I will be

I am the technicolor, intergalactic unicorn
I am the pearlescent being of divine light

I am the Angel of Death of Dead Tradition
I am the she-Moses getting out of a desert of lies

I am
I am what I will be

Today, I am choosing
today, I am choosing to create me in lieu of inheriting "me"

Choosing well
choosing better

Choosing wiser
choosing more joyfully

Today, I am the randy interstellar unicorn
blazing a neon rainbow trail forward
Isaac Dec 2020
I am amorphous like water
Bond to whatever environment I am in
Mutable and lovely like your daughter
with the faintest tint of red in my hair and cheeks
Who am I?
simply a chameleon coat changing colors to match the vibe
Who am I?
A polished diamond to reflect back all the lies
Every pair of eyes, I reflect back on their biggest insecurities
Blame me for being a mirrorball, wish I could be a fly on the wall.
It is scary how daring I have become
It is scary how I am scared of no one
Not even the flames of my mother's rage can melt my icy disposition
Not even the endless cycle of nights and days can fray my imagination
Who am I?
Simply a passing moment entrenched in your brain
Who am I?
Just a chameleon coat
The true essence unknown
Lunar Nov 2020
Do I know
Who I am on my own
Before I've met
Any other I have known?
Who am I, as a person? Is there even a portion of me that isn't influenced by others, or made up of pieces of the people I've let into my life? I'm afraid I don't know who I am tonight.

Let me be myself and write a poem for me.

Nika J Nov 2020
Tasteless, tacky, out of place
Motionless, outdated, dusty
Ugly, pretty, vibrant
Dark, serene, broken
Words set to destroy or rebuild that in which is beautiful
Catch the words desired by the rush you feel that day
Bottled up by darkened souls
Let out as cries by lightened hearts
Happiness, sadness both standing at two intervals
Casting, accepting both standing parallel
Both small and big make up the very world we reside in
But it is within the eyes what
Who are we?
Human, existing, breathing
What are they?
Animals, Plants, Objects
Don't lose your sight
Become blind to that in which you hear
For the moment you cannot see
With the senses of every being
You will lose what it means to be a different
We must all come to realize that everyday we walk this earth we are nothing more than figures. Different, beautiful, we exist as one. Have you figured it out yet?
FlipThePoet Oct 2020
There is too much ice in this lemon aid
too much responsibility we'd ought not to take
if you wonder who "we" are
its best not we say.

In my birth-land they crying desperate for change
so they pack the street to advocate
only to be hit with straights.

there is too much at stake
the pastor say the world is on its last days
but to live and get older, isn't that our mandate?

The truth is as uncomfortable as wearing mask with eye-aid
those who wish to see have to endure the fog
there is much worry about the 1% prone to be affected
while the 99% are on parole and neglected.

Note, if you speak out of sync
you also will be hit with a straight.
its not only my birth-land that needs reforming.
best watch out where you stay.
echo chamber thicken up the walls
we all live in a safe.
opting to hear what we want them to say
maybe this is the beginning of a new dark age.
things I have been observing in this time and age  
so I pick up the pen and this is what I say
Kenneth Cledera Sep 2020
Peculiar to be
An alternate alter
A thousand known, A thousand beware
Circumscribe to ye
A thousand dead, A thousand wiser
Another poem I've written last year on the thirtieth of July.
NM Aug 2020
I'm an open book in a society that can't ******* read.
I give too much, love too much, say too much, do too much...
I hardly know if that's more a blessing, or a curse.

Also given I also have D.I.D, I try my best to help others understand, just to feel not so alienated in life...
But often I still feel silent.
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