Identity

Identity

A poem I wrote and rewrote for english class, the same title with different words, three years in the running

The clothes I wear, the best of which were not originally mine

The four photo albums that sit in a drawer under pictures with my prayer shawl, the design on it made by me

Dark eyes that no one will ever complement, but I see and think are wonderful

Pink and purple and red hair, and on one failed occassion, green

The most important moment in my life reduced to one more thing seen through a screen

The apple tree in my backyard that has never born unsullied fruit

The outfits in my attic that I long for when I'm away

The necklaces that I wear until they brake and mourn them for a week

The fish we found and named and held a funeral for, written by yours truly

The bag I've had slung over my shoulder since sixth grade

The jean jacket I stole from my mother and covered in pins

The thrift store jacket I cut the sleeves off and stayed up all night sewing buttons onto

The years I spent in theater without learning how to use makeup, 14 years of my life

The notebooks I've never fully filled, pages of childish scribbles ripped out, a few covered in half started stories

Freckles that are sprinkled across my cheeks that I love and others envy

The scars on my arm that I keep hidden away

The scratches on my wrist that I hope no one sees

The indents on my neck, made from my nails that one night

The words that I use to comfort my friends but ignore myself

The stories I've writen but never finished

The things I say that scare me but no one pays enough attention to notice

The panic attacks I casually mention I had but brush off as nothing the moment they're said

The first glove I cut from a sock almost a year ago to cover what I thought was large

My kindergarten teacher, the trama she gave me that I'm still sorting through, 9 years later

My hands, covered in ink and dried blood

The days I've been counting since I heard their voice

The dates I keep track of in my notes

The things I write down because I know that I will forget

The flip phone I've used for 2 years, annoyance included free of charge

My playlist names, concerning and quotes alike

The person I love who hides things from me desperate to keep me

The voices I try to block out as they rip away that which keeps me safe

The darkness that I prefer too afraid of being see in the light

The anxiety I pretend I don't have

The memories I repress because it's so much easier, crying when they return without warning

The hands gripping my arms, bruising them on impact- it hurts

The sarcastic comments that I bite back or direct at myself- knowing that my own hatred hurts less than yours

The opinions I should care about but don't

The people whom I have put all of my self worth into

My hair which changes color every month or two

The things I have said and regret every day

The things I was too scared to ask that are the reason I say "if only"

The things I have to build up my courage to ask that turn out to have been such small, dumb things in the first place- not worth the drama they took to ask

The jokes I tell to make myself laugh, if I stopped saying them I would cry

The words I mutter under under my breath, important words that I am too afraid to speak aloud

The words I whisper to my friends, dumb words that no one needs to hear, but I voice anyways

The things I hear and internalize

The lyrics I relate to as if they were written about me

The smiles I fake

The stims I mask

The memories that have changed over time

The art I see in my head but can never even start to create

The things I do for the people I love

The things I do for the people I know