Identity Crisis

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic

I am a wild daydreamer, but not all of them are always so sweet. This was inspired by an inherent need to want to be the best of yourself in the eyes of the one you love. Sometimes, their view is like a mirror, showing you a true reflection of everything you are and can be, and sometimes their view is a blueprint of what you want to conform into, although deep down, that's not who you really are.

Identity Crises


She was dressed in a river lily

Descending on a rose petal


Sapphire skies and azure glazes

Lilac threads age frothing clouds the colour of light

A botany weaved through her hair

Spun gold in her eyes

Ivory on her skin

Pearls around her heart


Open arms beckoned her

To receive the gift


The gift beyond a name



He was a Tuscan palette 

behind the emerald shine

Vermilion in his veins

Rosewood made his virility

Lignin sinews

Strong against the wind

Fluid in the gale

Not so many precious stones adorned him



But he lived for her

He loved for her



Despite their different proportions

He would become one

With her



Under a light spot

In the spotlight

Recited the promise

That would make their stars align



Then the bright sun turned mellow

The clouds became styrofoam



A heat that froze his feet



Charred coal or charcoal

Ash and cinder

Or a diamond in the rough



He was too coarse for her delicate hands



'Do you ...'



His name sounded like a mystery 

He was yet to discover






Her name was a privilege;


A pilgrimage falling upon his ears



'To be your lovely ...'




Wedded wife ...




The sight of Canaan

The land of milk and honey



He knew he deserved to starve


She said his name in a beckoning


It was spoken like a question mark



'I don't ...'




The silence was suicide

The words a swift assassination



She spoke his name now like a prayer


He looked at her

In all the colours of insecurity

In all the strength of the broken

Her eyes were a crystalline mirror

Reflecting a stranger of dreams to him

The stranger he had run out of strength to be


He looked at her with the finality similar to looking at a dying thing




He said in an impromptu goodbye,



'I don't know who that is...'



Then the clouds descended and whisked him away



~ who are you?


Submitted: April 06, 2022

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