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Literature Text
- What am I in this world,
But anything more than a mere girl?
A girl who holds only three simple titles,
That will remain with ones self until death has proven other wise...
- A Daughter.
- A Sister.
- A Friend.
What am I more than an average person,
With nothing more than a name to ones self.
Not even my name,
Is worth more than the paper it was printed on...
- First Name.
- Middle Name.
- Last Name.
What am I created for,
To be living in this mess?
With no identity,
Yet kept masked behind these titles.
- Live.
- Laugh.
- Love.
What meaning do I have,
If ones titles are the same?
What importance do I own,
If I can easily be replaced?
What quality do I create,
That someone else doesn't already claim?
What am I to someone,
If someone is me,
Missing their true identity,
And waiting for that someone,
To knock down all the titles,
Remove all the masks,
Stare them straight in the eyes,
And answer the question of:
- "What am I ?"
Literature
Suicide or Tea?
Should I kill myself or have a cup of tea?
I decide on the latter and I'm not sure why. Probably because I can. Life is a never-ending scroll of be-goods, be-happies, be-in-controls, be-okays, be-strongs and be-appreciatives. So what's another day?
Just another day closer to death.
Still, life seems incredibly long, don't you think? So long, it's hard to see the end and nearly impossible to touch – even with a knife in my hand that could easily skewer my heart, make it squirm and still like a dying nightingale – sealing its death with a pathetic squeal of almost-song.
Life is pain and people in pain are a pain in the ass. Perhap
Literature
Am I Finally Good Enough?
I wiped away your tears
Stayed up with you all night
I fought away your fears
To make sure you were alright
I was the one
Who always stood by your side
And
I was always there
To be the one you confide in
I moved mountains
When nobody else could
I held you in my arms
When nobody else would
Am I finally good enough
To be worthy of your love...?
Or is there something more
That you're still waiting for...?
Literature
I am a Poet
You ask me who I am , where did I come from
I say: I am a poet, I was born out of the blazing silk of my words
My heart is an eternal rebel, since the dawn of creation
I'm the master of my own words, the keeper of God's secret
I'm the story of that rose shivering on the freezing hill
I live in that oasis of light, in a world beyond your world
The stars stare at my hopes, and hell trembles between my fingers
The night dreads my pain, the morning sleeps on my pillow
I create my words from the tissue of my veins
I weave the images from the feather of my eyelids
I wash my sins away, when I repent between the lines
My word
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Care to answer my question ?
© 2012 - 2024 SamShamrocks
Comments129
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I have this question all the time, and I have come to this conclusion: no one, and I mean no one, can answer it for you. You can't wait around to be defined by someone else. You've got to do it yourself.
Good luck!
Good luck!