Who am I?


I have so much to say but I don’t seem to find the right words
I have a lot to tell but I’m too scared to not sound deep
I have a lot I want to change but I don’t know which reality to choose;
They say a lot of things about me and I don’t even know who I really am

I am the writer who cannot write her own story
The voice that has no one to hear her cries
A motivator without a motivation
A light that is encased in darkness

I am the brain built by years of pretentious practice
A feminist who fulfils men’s desire just to exist
The prey that gives her predator peace
The giver of love with no love to receive

I am the daughter who dares to disobey the pressures of parenting ills
Just to live a life of everyday hustling.
A sister that spreads her wings of love even when it’s being clipped;
The fly you can’t shake off

I am the broken pitcher trying to retain my content
By patching the pieces of my soul’s pot,
But I have bled and I remain nothing
But fragments of once being

I am a bird that seeks to set out for the sky,
But still finds comfort in my cage.
A pilgrim making no progress in the quest for identity;
I am a lost soul.



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