August 20th, 2009
Beat me down with your stereotypes, but I can never confine myself. You can talk, and write, and pretend all you want, but only I will ever know the real me. You don’t know the truth, not even half of it, or even how I feel. You can’t tell me who I am, what I want, or what I’ve done. Repeat my words, but they change, stories change, and all I fear is drama starts. People change, and so do I, so I can’t hold on to your label or define myself anymore. Who I am has never been what I am, but no one gets the difference. If you can’t tell between them, what gives you the right to claim you know me well enough to stereotype me in the first place. In the mirror, I’ve watched myself change, and through my dreams, I’ve felt it. I can’t hold on anymore, I’ve broken my self-image, and all for some words that mixed up my intentions to smile. Facing my image and my dreams has lost me in all this confusion. I can’t hold on to who I was, and I can only hope that they understand. Seeing myself change has been one of the hardest parts, but holding onto my self-image of what I used to be makes it hard to accept the fact that I changed, and I have no identity. I’ll take my time before I try to confine, and I can only hope it turns out alright in the end. But if you can’t love me without a label, then what kind of love was that from the start.
Doll Poetry 