Solemn Reflection

With a number two pencil resting across my fingers,

Unruly hair messily tied like a bird's nest,

Eyebrows squished in,

Faintly painted nails tapping,

My mind raged on.


What am I?

It is a question I pondered on for ages,

Yet it has never been fully answered.


I thought,

"I am afraid,

I am the smile that conceals my sadness,

I am a child whose dreams have long gone."


But instead, I wrote,

"I am fearless,

I am the flower that grows with rain,

I am a wanderer who's lost in the clouds."


Written words are a form of power.


The weight they carry.

The fiery emotions they burn.

The irreplacable memories they remember.


They remind me of who I am.


Alone, yet not lonely.


After an endless hour of work,

With the accompaniment of my now-dull pencil,

I will have reflected on myself, 

And once again,

The answer has changed.


This poem is about: 


Need to talk?

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