I'm Not Sure What I Am...

Many have an answer for “What are you?”. Often times, however, I have myself asked the question ‘Am I?’


Am I defined by the joy I take in the little moments of calm, or the excitement over learning something new?

Am I defined by the fear that stabs my brain and heart simultaneously?

The fear of failure, and the fear of living a life unfulfilled?

But most daunting, the fear of being less than I know I can be?

Or do my inner struggles with gender, sexuality, and my own mentality hold the most sway over the image one sees of me?


Maybe am I defined by the friends I have chosen to scrape together these last few years.

Friends who battle more than I ever will or could.

And the friends who seem to have a most wonderful niche in life.

Perhaps I am defined by a father who has broken his body to feed his children.

And by a stepmother who tried her best while applying her worst.

Or by siblings with whom I share the same memories, but who views such memories through different eyes.


Perhaps I am defined by the fact that I have finally left the ugly misery of yesterday for the peaceful agony of today.

Perhaps by the positive and calm outlook I usually manage to bring forth under stressful situations.

Even it is sometimes a mask for the panic I feel inside.

Or perhaps by the healing ointment I have taught myself to apply to the wounds that once oozed anger and pain.

Perhaps life has placed the everlasting title “Jack of All Trades, Master of None” to my name.

Or perhaps, I’ll reach up and replace it with “Keeper of Many Talents”.


Though I keep forgetting what I saw in the mirror yesterday,

I will forever remember what I didn’t see.

I didn’t see one who gave up or backed down.

I didn’t see one who left pieces of themselves scattered.

I didn’t see one defined by what others burned upon my soul and carved into my memories.

I didn’t see one who cherishes the solitude of holding hatred for others.

Nor did I see one who welcomes all without a shield to brace against the tide of demons.


Though I may always know what I am, I hold close knowledge of what I am not, and do not wish to be.

This poem is about: 
My family


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