#identities
You are not your identities,
Or what people tell you to be.
What you think you should be
Or how some may perceieve
You are everything in between
You are all your possibilities
The energy that keeps going.
Heart spilled out in ink
Eyes that gleam.
Eyes that bleed.
Words that make others see
& The words you never speak.
The love you bring
You are not just your story.
You exist between the seen
and the unseen..
You are not defined.
You cant be.
You are otherworldly.
And One day,
When i let someone inside,
I won’t be so torn if they leave.
For i know,
I will always have me, myself and I.
And they will know me better than any other guy.
Learn the lessons,
And get to steppin.
Life isnt found in over thinking, wishing and daydreaming.
Its found in living.
Kc
Dec 6, 2025
Dec 6, 2025 at 6:34 PM UTC
those shadows under your weary eyes
that change with every passing night;
line them like dreary curtains, hiding your many plights.
your head still plays that one tune;
and your shadows are like the dark side of the moon.
never the same, as if it were night in a field of rye --
accompanied by the pearly lights of the midnight sky.
the inky blackness of your conscious hemorrhage,
drenched in freezing waters, against the depths of your memory begin to effleurage.
which at once creates a hazy fog in your great ocean,
too still and opaque to make a single motion;
and those dark, glimmering eyes open with the golden sunrise;
warm and blooming, syrupy and glaze
swirling with auburn and chocolate haze.
i can never forget, and i will never regret.
you speak, you ramble; you and your cares;
and you breathe, breathing a mist into the cold air.
you wake, from your slumber in that freezing past,
stuck behind that window pane of shattered glass.
i love both of you; you and your other half --
the reason i break out in a severe laugh.
the dark side of your moon --
the sliver of light that breaking through.
your heavy-lidded awkwardness, a
shy smile, as you grip your coffee -
this winter chill in your bones, your meek and quiet authority.
the rose blooms in your face, when you quicken your pace.
the other is teeming with vigor. he is filled with a profound rigor;
eventually he will intrude,
forced to pay for his life through servitude.
he wakes in the dead of night to do what he believes is right;
he wraps himself in white armor, becoming the knight.
with crimson on his hands and
plum bruises on his knuckles, he retreats,
and so the hectic process repeats.
his trauma heals and dawn arrives,
and the other wakes up, believing the muddled disguise.
you lose track of your sleep, the days, the time;
your pain, the month, your mind.
your insomnia grows at your windowpane,
like a flowering *** of healthy nightshade.
and your crinkled, dusty flat,
along with your wrinkled kitchen mat;
is perfect for a lazy evening chat.
and though you may undergo many changes,
i will still love you and your many phases.
Mar 11, 2025
Mar 11, 2025 at 11:37 AM UTC
They call me
A...
Mummy
Partner
& Love
They call me
Friend
Lover
Playmate
They call me
Sister
Daughter
& Auntie Iva
They call me
Mother Dearest
When they're feeling
Cultured
& Refined
Or Mummylumps
When feeling
Content
Shiny
Or snugly
They call me
Hey you
Miss
& Ma'am
When I'm just another body
In line
In traffic
In their way
They call me
Vivi
Vi
Or by my full name
When they know my mom and dad
They call me
Student
Client
Patient
Or User
When they want my money
They call me
With tears, sometimes
Or with ire
With confusion
Joy
Or small triumphs
When I have the privilege
Of being their person
They call me names
These are their names
They are not mine
Jun 19, 2024
Jun 19, 2024 at 5:59 PM UTC
Lewis Carroll,
The numbers were driving him insane.
George Orwell,
His family didn't know yet.
Mark Twain,
A childhood on the rivers.
A pseudonym is a weapon like no other.
Feb 14, 2019
Feb 14, 2019 at 12:35 AM UTC
"Do you ever wonder where these voices came from?"
I closed my eyes and for a moment, I thought I was talking to someone else…
“Yes, I am them. They were the identities formed within my insecurities. A life I wished that I was once in; the shoes of someone I wanted to be… And to that, I have made you exist, but not living…"
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 7:12 AM UTC
There is an object lying on my desk
Something so simple yet so picturesque
Whose value tends to be forgotten
With a purpose wasted over and over again
With the help of tools, it's radiance flows
With a bit of aid, it will surely glow
Often, the results are better than we know
But if left untouched, it would be hollow
An empty space, a blank canvas
Utilized properly, it would surely surpass
All the expectations and the doubts
Grab it now and let your identity sprout
May it be an artwork or literary
A musical score or a piece of origami
A sheet of paper, no matter how small
Can make a difference for us all
Something so thin and so plain
Offers numerous experiences we can attain
Take advantage of the entire blank space
Let us put our imaginations in replace
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 1:15 PM UTC
They were children tasting sugar
For the first time
Without all the artificial layers
The raw sweetness
Making them gasp and shiver
Anticipating for more
Turning them into wild animals
Ravaging its meal
Showing their true identities
Buried in these colors
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 4:18 AM UTC