The shadowy shape of self
Ghosts by, ephemeral, just beyond reach.
My own thoughts gather dust on the shelf
My mind to full of ideas others teach.
Who I am, I do not truly know,
How to define myself--that even less;
And to put a wild phantom of "myself" on show
I think would create an incoherent mess.
But without a flicker of doubt I do know this:
With the steadiness of flame I know who I am not.
Perhaps what I am not, that dark devouring abyss
Might show what my uncertain self's light cannot.
I have been told that everyone has a "true face",
And that they must reveal it as their own.
I think in a portrait of negative space
My own true self might begin to be shown.
I am not a hero,
Yet I am not ordinary.
I am not a failure,
Neither am I a particular success.
I am not shattered or sharp like broken glass,
I am not perfectly whole and strong.
I am not a plastic doll to be prodded and positioned,
I am not a soldier to be trained,
I am not a coward to be dismissed and discarded.
I am not everything.
I am not nothing.
I might be anything,
But I might not.
This poem is about:
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: