I'm not split like Jekyll & Hyde
I wouldn't say I've got two faces
but if we get to talking,
Of course, there's some things I'm gonna try to hide.
We all have secrets buried in our minds
And we all get nervous when the conversation hits too close to home

I think I'm more like an iceberg.
There's a part of me that stays above the surface
And everyone sees it.
But here's the thing about icebergs;
They're mostly underwater.

The stuff inside me is a technicolor spectrum
From the softest pinks to the reddest reds.
I go from the lightest yellows to the deepest blues
And all the hues in between
I am a miracle and so are you

But our monochrome iceberg skin
Only serves to cover up the colors that we hide within

So there it is.
Maybe I don't have two faces
But I do have two sides;
Outside and in.

While it's true that some hide more than others do,
The things that I hide
Might not even matter to you.

So why is it hidden?
What's keeping it underwater?
Well, every time I try to surface,
I end up thinking of my mom and father.
And so there are parts of me that will stay forbidden.

But it's more than just them isn't it?
My friends and family
The occasional random visitor to my sea ice castle
That for the last 19 years has only grown more and more submerged

I guess none of us know what we're afraid.
Or maybe it's just that,
The fear of the unknown.
That what lies beneath will lead us to be alone
But what's fear ever done?
Sure, it's helped us survive
But can it let us truly live?

When I'm 95, I don't want to look back
And see fear, see regrets, secrets,
Any of that

I wanna look back and see
The technicolor tapestry
That lives inside of you and me.

I wonder how they do it
Those immaculate girls
With butterscotch hair and honeyed smiles
So sleek and streamlined,
So very contained
Gliding through life without a care,
They are the definition of grace.

My life is more haphazard
My room a bomb site of to do lists
My hair wild and frazzled
My shirt untucked
And my eyes bright-
Not good bright, though,
Not sweet sunlight bright,
Feverish, they dart with static-
My hands pirouette through the air
My teeth slightly crooked but smiling broadly
Dark circles under my eyes
And a liberal spray of spots on my face
Because who has time for face paint
When the mornings are reserved for catching up on the sleep you lost
Exploring the universe in your mind?

My words from my poems to my texts
Are long unending sentences
And stop-starts
Littered with exclamations!!
And I swear I'm articulate
This explosion you're hearing is vomited onto a page
A direct translation for a brain that flits and stumbles over itself
I beg of you to like me

My laughter bursts into your personal space
And I do too
I always get too close-
I come on too strong, apparently
I love too much, too hard and too fast
I fall far too easily and break my own heart
And drive people away
Because I'm not aloof or cool or distant
There's no thrill of the chase with me
Just honesty
And an eagerness to please.

I lurch between seeing these
As my most wonderful assets
And my greatest downfalls.
But *******
If you are one of the people who has made me believe the latter
Sure, I can be intense
Sure, I can be hard to love
But you have never known loyalty like mine.
Never will you find such passion and intensity
And that's a ******* good thing, you hear me?
That's a good thing.
I am vibrant and alive
Where you see cloudy days
I can find a kaleidoscope of colour
My energy comes not from coffee
But from this white-hot centre of my heart
This supernova colour-clashing burnout explosion of me.

And it's a ******* honour
To stand in my presence
And feel my warmth.

my life is but a palindrome

it was something i chose, though never wanted
such a delicate line between hallowed and haunted

i woke in the night with an ache in my bones
my marrow was bubbling and burning it seemed
as i tossed and i turned all alone in my sheets

a cage for the ghost that resides in my flesh
down deeper and hidden where no one can find
as i buried the burden i attempted to rest
but a devil sat laughing in the lofts of my mind

an echo of nothing, a possession so wild
with the fevers of hell i was sure to be dammed
but an echo of something, like the voice of a child
whispered the phrase, "you can always go back..."

in the tangible black i lay in my room
while a galaxy glittered, hung high in the dark
i wondered why i trade sunlight for star

so I wrestled with sheets, & with god, & with stone
and the quick fleeting feeling i am never alone

i pray my life, to be a palindrome



© Mike Mortensen

Bring your own juice.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
How is someone supposed to put into
words that they feel/ have been made (self)-aware(somehow) there personality adapts (naturally)?
to the people they are around and even beginning
to mimic the interacting persons emotions and personality traits
to create a, sociable personality.
because depression has taken a dramatic toll on their personality and they know longer know how to
Be there own person:
I often forget about the things i actually enjoy doing
because I'm not surrounded by people that enjoy doing the same things.
I love to write
I love to read
I like to play the guitar
I like to create art
and
I love making people happy!
So what could possibly be wrong?
Why do I loose my sense of self when I'm with others?