Who am I?

Reads: 130  | Likes: 1  | Shelves: 1  | Comments: 3

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Review Chain

I wrote this as a contest piece. This poem was actually quite hard to write for me but it needed to be done. To show people that the person we are on the outside, may not match the person we are on
the inside.

Submitted: August 08, 2018

A A A | A A A

Submitted: August 08, 2018



Who am I?

The Outer Case:

I am what everyone sees; The tip of the iceberg. The calm and collected; Hair on point, Makeup to a tee, Cool cucumber.

The glue; That holds everyone together. The rock; That holds everyone up. The sponge; That sops up the tears.

The Wall, That holds it all, And separates the Inners.

The Inners:

We are what few see; We are the limbo of the Iceberg, Half submerged, half floating, The part that stores, All emotion, Happiness, sadness, anger, pain…

We manifest in many ways, Sometimes we are the tears that leave salty paths down your cheeks, Sometimes we are the burning sensation gnawing on your ribcage, Other days we are the joy, that makes your heart feel three sizes bigger and As warm as the sun.

We can destroy the glue, Or strengthen it.

We are the messengers, To the outer case, And to the box.

The Box:

I am what no one sees; I am pure chaos, pure numbness, Or pure bliss; Usually with little grey zone, In between.

I am a fire, I can spontaneously combust; Small and manageable at first, With nothing to build on; But as a small, dry, leaf, Floating across the breeze, Unknowingly; Lands within inches of me. I try to stay away, I don’t want it to light up, Because I know, The consequences…

I feel a breeze… No please don’t push me, I don’t want to hurt the leaf… One little orange spark pops out of me…

The leaf catches, and it begins… I start to grow, taking up more space, The heat becomes intense, Like a furnace And I start to burn everything in my path…

Send a message, SOS! Please help, I don’t want to destroy what I have built!

The Inners: Message received. Send in the clouds, We need water in the box!

The fog and clouds move in…

The Stick Figure:

I am the conscience, I live in the box, I control the fire, And write the story.

The fog is rolling in, I hear the fire destroy, The crackle of burning wood, The woody smell of it burning, The claustrophobic smell of smoke.

Rain drops start, small at first but Turning into torrents A flash of lightning, Here and there and then everywhere; I see the fire’s path, Hoping the destruction is fixable…

Each drop of water, Is a drop of relief, Calming the burn, And smothering the flames. It shrinks to nothing, As its strength is weakened… But the fog stays, Blocking out the light. Hoping it disperses soon, So repairs can be done…

The Box: The Fog brings numbness, After the storm… Its cold, and comforting, After the fire and the storm; After feeling all the pain, But it's scary, Not seeing the path of what's to come.

The Inners: As numbness has set it, There's pain, Of the unknown; We are struggling with each other, What to do to stop the streaks of pain; The want to push past the wall, So somebody finds us, And saves us.

The Outer Case: Still calm, Still smiling, Still saying I am fine; Never showing, The turmoil, That is hidden behind the Wall.

Who am I? I am anyone who has ever struggled with: The ins and outs, Of everyday life, Who feels like they have noone, When they are in a room surrounded, By a multitude of people, Who love them dearly.

Who am I? I am 1 in a million, Who has wondered, If their family would be better off, Without them.

Who am I? I am the person in the crowd, Who no one would suspect, Would think these things. I don’t call attention to myself, Because I don’t want to, Be bombarded, With everyone else's feelings.

Who am I? I am the person, Who is scared to ask for help, The person who doesn’t want to, Disappoint; Anyone…

So I put on my outer case, And then I am good; At least I hope I am good enough, That no one sees, The fiery turmoil that brings the Fog.

The Stick Figure: Blissful on the outside, Does not mean, Blissful on the Inside; Sometimes the wall, And the outer casing, Needs to be broken.

© Copyright 2018 W. D. Ball. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments: