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Brianna Nov 2023
To love me is to put up with a messiness I inherited from my mother.
The displays of self loathing and self sabotage i work on daily.
The clothes I leave on the floor.
The coffee cups in the sink.
The bed unmade and the too many shoes.

To love me is to deal with an annoying amount of independence I inherited from my father.
The acts of self serving that I work on daily.
The know it all moments when I’m working on something or fixing something.
The confidence in my work ethic, my persona & who I am.
The laughter I have over everything.

To love me is to know the loyalty and respect I’ve inherited from my stepmom.
The empathy I still long for and work to find daily.
The care over details.
The nurture I give when you’re sad or sick.
The standing up for you but also putting you in your place.

To love me is to cope with the stoic coldness and wandering spirit I’ve inherited from my grandma.
The parts of me you’ll never fully know that I work to show you daily.
The look of dismay I sometimes don’t know is on my face.
The inability to stay in one place for too long without going insane.
The moments I want to run away and never look back.

To love me is to cope.
Cope with knowing sometimes I’m mean.
Sometimes I’m sad.
And sometimes I love fiercely and passionately.
To love me is to love all of me.
Everything I’ve inherited and everything I’ve learned and unlearned over time.
To love me is to be loved in return.
Kacie Sep 2023
And sometimes I don’t tell anyone my feelings
As there is no language that could describe them.

How does one create so much pressure that doesn’t exist
And still destroy them?

Life itself makes no sense
And yet here we are

Maybe there was never a place in the world
For people like you and me
We just  happen to be here.
Zack Ripley May 2021
I'm not sure exactly where I stand
When people ask me if I'm a boy or a man.
But does it really matter?
You're going to see what you want to see.
You're going to say what you want to say.
So while you decide, I'll be standing on the side
Just being me.
Debanjana Saha Feb 2022
"A year or two
Went by
Deep down
With silence
Longer than ever
No words to write
or to express
And there I was
standing all alone
Not knowing whether
to end or to start anew!

Was that even me
Who used to write
Or this is me
Who kept quite?

Who am I?
Did corona
actually change
all of us
or its just me
Who changed
more than ever?
How are you all? This corona years have been difficult for all of us. I have changed upside down. Not sure how it's has changed you all. But trusting all of you are fine. Take care ❤️
Sarah Delaney Nov 2021
As a child I was always the shyest in the room,
I never started conversation for fear of rejection.
Maybe it was because I never had a strong father figure growing up,
I strived to be perfect for everyone I met.
I carefully viewed those around me,
Taking in silent notes of the values, morals, and hobbies they held that were “popular”.
They had the best clothing?
I decided that I needed a whole new wardrobe.
If they traveled a lot, I wanted to travel just as much.
I took all of these things and “built” a better me.
One that I thought people would like.
Every morning I put on that mask for fear that nobody would like the real me,
But I’ve been wearing this mask for so long I cannot tell which is the real me from the imposter.
Which begs the question,
Who am I?

Evey Emery May 2021
Who is this monster I have created
When did the real me get so faded
I hate it

I look in the mirror,
And all I see is self hatred

Where did the real me go
Where did I go
I want to know

When did I get stuck in this bottomless pit of hell
When did I turn into this person I don't even recognize,
Even when I look myself in the eyes

Who am I
Him Feb 2021
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.
Who am I?
I S A A C 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
AJBusse Dec 2020
Who am I?

I’m from the smell of seasons passing in the blink of an eye. The smell of spring, and summer, and fall, and the painful scent of winter.
I’m from giggles in the car with Reginald and Rose the foxes and their adventures through worlds.
I am from trips to the library, where I beg to get tens of thousands of books.
From the dusty rocks on my elementary school playground.
From songs that ring in my head when I close my eyes.
From peanut butter and jelly sandwiches that I gave to the dog.
From phrases that sit in my soul and sing to me whenever I’m in the big wide world. Skate with your head up: Kommen Sie, Bitte: Let the knife do the work: Slow and gentle: One hand,
From reading Hungry Little Caterpillar on the floor as my dad records me.
I’m from singing Frozen at the top of my lungs in the living room.
I’m from braces in second grade that wrenched and pulled my teeth.
I’m from countless restless nights and early mornings; where the darkness coos to me to sleep.
I’m from bear hugging my cousins, to laughing at their jokes that I never understood.
I’m from Food Network in vacation hotel rooms.
From chasing seagulls on the beach as I stomp on shells and salt sprays in my face.
From making clay pots when the air was hot and sticky, and my skin was pink with sun.
From my grandpa pretending to eat the Play Doh milkshake I made.
From countless walks in the woods, where the birds sung to me, and the sunshine embraced me.
I’m from losing people like water slips through cracks in the concrete.
I’m from being the last to be chosen.
I’m from being the friend that walks on the grass. The girl that was always left behind.
I’m from being the second choice. The person someone picked another girl over.
I’m from feeling like I’m constantly doing something wrong.
I’m from looking up at the sky and wondering why they would hurt me like this.
But most of all. I’m from throwing myself into people I love.
Holding them tight. Even if they wriggle from my grasp.
From screaming into the sky the names of people who love me. And people I never want to lose.
From giving people my everything.
From calling out into the world for someone to treat me the way I always treat everyone else.
And the world answered.
I’m from tears, to letting go of people who can’t handle me.
From letting go of people who don’t understand me.
I’m from healing.
From forgiveness.
From joy. So so much joy.
I’m from the grass, and the wind, and the songs of the Earth and melodies of who I’m meant to be.
From the flowers, the trees, the mountains, and the leaves.
From the waterfalls hidden behind rocks that no one could see.
From the magic the dances in the air.
From years of love.
I’m from me.
A.J. Busse
Everything me. From my heart to the raw skin that still burns.
Chris Calkins Jan 2019
i am broken
like a carousel off its axis;
because I have to figure out how to fix this
shattered mind
with no blueprints for what a stable one looks like;
in a world that shoves happiness and recovery
down my throat anyway;
who lives only for the sake of others
those who mistakenly believe i can be saved;
because for all that i feel
none of those emotions touch me
deep enough to pull me out of this void
i'm living in.
i am.
and already dead inside.
I have journal prompts given to me by my therapist and the first was, "Who am I?"
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