What, I'm not in Webster?

"Define yourself."

Define.

Yourself.

As i try to grasp those words, I can't quite make them out.

Everyone wants to know who you are or where you've been,

You ask who I am. How would I define myself. 

As if it were as simple as opening a dictionary and collecting the definition, translation, origin and using it in a sentence.

I'm not your noun. And I am not your verb. 

 

We are expected to work a 9-5.

Maintain a 4.0.

Have Friends.

Go on dates. 

Have a life.

And still have to sit behind a computer screen answering a simple question that we've answered a million times over.

Yet we always say what we want you to hear, and never who we truly are or what we truly feel.

It is so enraging knowing that only I will know what it's on the inside of these thoughts.

Only I will be able to play each and every memory, good and bad, over and over day in and day out.

Nobody wants to know me.

Nobody wants my memories.

Everyone wants my numbers.

How much money do I make? Not enough.

Whats my GPA? Worse than the guy next to me.

How many friends do I have? I have a dog, does that count?

How can you define me, when who we are is only where we've been.

 

We are asked to put our insecurities aside, our anxiety on hold, and our pride on the line,

So we can give you an answer that you want.

But I will not.

This is who I am.

I am the girl that didn't learn from my mistakes until it was too late.

I am the girl that never hides behind a number or statistic.

I am the girl that speaks up when everyone holds their breath.

I am the girl that can not, and will not give a simple answer to a loaded question.

I have no definition. 

You can't open a webster and find my origin. 

I am me, and you will never know the memories that hide behind those letters.

 

 

 

 

 

 

This poem is about: 
Me
Our world

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741