What am I?
Am I punk?
Am I a pretender?
Am I mixing in with the grey walls?
Who am I?
Surely if I ask my mother
She'll look at me strangely
And recite to me my name
But yet it's like a shell
I'm like a shell
What is inside?
Am I emotional?
Does that make me emo?
Am I strong?
Wait, that one I can answer myself
No
I can barely stand on my own
Without begging for someone's ears
To finally hear me
Do I want to be heard?
I hold my tongue from things I know I mean
Because it will sting to the directed person with good hearing
And I couldn't bear what they would say in return
Do I want to speak?
No
Everything I seem to say sounds wrong
Why is it when the gates at which my heart, mind, and mouth
Finally are synchronized
I hear your version of everything
Why is it that I want you to listen to me?
Am I petty for this?
Does the fact that I feel that I need to be heard
Just every once in a while
Do I truly want to hear?
I do enjoy the pulse of the recorder playing outside
But it sounds like death to hear you crying,
To hear myself think,
And to hear how and what you think
Does this mean that I am weak?
Am I weak?
Am I troublesome?
Am I delightful?
Am I expressive?
Am I fickle?
Am I the worst mistake
She could have made?
WHAT THE HELL AM I?!
I've heard that I'm a nerd
I've heard that I'm awesome
I've heard that I don't fit within a stereotype
I've heard that I'm a pig
I've heard that I'm hilarious
I've heard that I'm weird
But that doesn't truly answer a thing
I didn't ask for opinions
I'm asking for the truth of my identity.
What am I?
Since no one cares to answer
How am I supposed to "find myself"?
Should I stop caring entirely
Is that what I should be?
Apathy wrapped with common smiles
Trying to be what you want me to be
What is it that you want me to be?
Myself?
Ha! We don't know what that is.
Remember?
If not myself
Then buy me the clothes
Teach me the speech
And take me under your wing
You're such a good person
To change me to how you see fit
It will last
It's not like I'll have someone to turn back into
So please, mold me as you see fit
Strip me of my dignity
Or what little I claim to have
It wouldn't be the first time
But this would be the first time I'd fit somewhere
Then I could identify myself
I'll be your spawn
Should you abandon me
And I yearn to fit the name She gave me
The one I born to be
Who will I be?
I asking and I still am ignorant
Is that what I am?
Ignorant?
Or is naive a better word?
I envy you all
And your self knowledge
I don't seem to know a thing
Maybe one day
This unknown organic form
That I call me
Will harden into a work of art
Nothing else will tell me
But the future
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-Confucius had his Analects and I have my journal-
Idiosyncratic Quirk
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