I cried as I wrote this…
I am tired, yet wide awake.
I am a child of the night, yet I live day by day.
I am both… and I am neither.
I am kindness and love, I am fury and hate.
Nothing is dearer to me than those close to my heart,
but even they beware when my anger rules my thoughs.
Who am I?
They say I can write, and so I like to believe,
yet I do not speak unless spoken to
I am courage and bravery,
overcoming my bounds when I feel I must.
I am cowardice, frightenedness and uncertainty.
I fear tomorrow, for it may be another today.
Who am I?
I am he who is she, I am she who is he.
Locked up deep inside of that which I loathe.
The world does not accept that which rages within,
but if it is not real, why does it burn so much?
does it hurt so much?
Why can I not be who I am?
How is who I am so hard to accept?
But who am I to change the worlds of others?
Who AM I?
I am loneliness, facing my problems alone…
She who understands does not want me
-cannot want me-
however hard she tries.
And I do not blame her
-cannot blame her-
for I love her with all my raging heart.
And who would love one that does not know who they are?