I Am a Poem in and Of Myself
I am not my qualities
My mental illness
My scars
I am not my hair or my fat or my tears
I am not a feeling
The bliss of a first love
I am not a favorite song
I cannot reach you with my melody and break your heart
But, oh, how I am made of words
How my world is made of words
My hands
My arms
My legs
My shoes
My hand-me-down jeans
Words spill from me like an angry tide
Pushing, crashing against whatever I can write on
Wherever they can find rest
Spurting out
In groups of four
Or flowing in lovely lines of seven
I exist in words
I express in words
I am a poem being written by the weight of the world
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16khayes
I have faced a large amount of pain in my life, but I always find solance in words. Whether through writing or reading, words have always been my safe house. I write on everything. I have notebooks full of poems and songs and paragraphs. I have shoes covered with writing and my arms and legs always have writing on them reminding me of something. This poem is my testimony to that.