I Wish I Could’ve Been Myself

What was personified and what was genuine

Are so terribly mixed, I’m unsure.

That which bewilders is beset

With doubt between what’s real and pure.

Make-believe and masquerade

My many truths beffudled in mystique.

A sample of a splinted soul

Shrouded in saturations oblique.

Deciet drawn with smiles

To distract from fractured truths.

My naked self encased away

In case of breakage or missuse.

Secrets so nobody knows

The depths of misery I contain,

The shame and weakness

I consume and in my fear sustain.

I wish that I had been myself

But being myself, what a mess was made.

A look beneath my stained visage

Betrays the oceans I’ve kept restrained.

It’s coming soon, I must confess,

My will and levies are going to break.

So when I finally be myself

My tears might drown away my aches.

Persona and Identity

Persona vs Identity

Both more or less complex

Patterns, habits, and daydreams coalesce

Conscious acts and sub-conscious desires

 

Stare into the abyss

Reflections of war-like aggression

Jealous and sick with obsession

A stubborn will and icy heart

 

In paradox afflux

A Soul sensitive to touch

Brittle, and broken too much

Weak and crippled with toxicity

 

Accordingly and as such,

Conflicting passions run amock

Madness in emotions stuck

Paralyzed by determined chance

 

In trance or thought

Passivity mingles with distress

Shameful needs be addressed

Compelling, or just dwelling

 

In purer moments

All complexities relax

Heart and mind re-interact

And passion kindles brightly

 

Failures fall away

Proclaiming my essence

Assured of my vital presence

I’m deliberate, I’m awake

 

Pieces all in place

To know and love what I’ve become

To realize and overcome

Re-associative embrace

 

Accepting my entirety

All my fragments in contradiction

In defiance of definition

Thriving as chaotic force

 

The Whole vs The One

Many millions may there be

Maybe none of them are me

Or maybe it doesn’t matter

 

 

 

 

 

 

All The People In My Head

Some of them are funny, some of them are mean.

Some of them will only appear in my dreams.

Some like to go fast, others like it slow.

Some of them I hardly ever get to know.

This one is cynical, that one is meek.

This one’s just shy and too scared to be week.

That one is sensitive, this one is cruel.

He likes pretending that he makes the rules.

Sometimes they’re passive, sometimes they’re not.

Sometimes they’re anxious and screaming a lot.

A few are well-liked but most are despised.

Quite a few hide themselves with disguise.

This one is nice, she’s calm and she’s sweet.

That is wicked with malice and deceit.

Lustful are some while others are chaste.

One of them loves to feel tears on her face.

Some of them conflict, they don’t get along.

They pull me away from the place I belong.

They argue about me, they fill up my head.

They whisper to each other while I’m in bed.

Sometimes they’re helpful, sometimes they’re mean.

Sometimes they find myself in my dreams.