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Best Poems About / On IDENTITY
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157.
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It Is Not Impossible To Be Who One Is
It is not impossible to be who one is,
In places where people live without identities.
It just becomes more obvious,
To choose from those who are themselves...
From the others who have not a clue.
And if one can live getting this kind of attention,
In an environment where few know who they are...
The identity one has that is seen to address,
Has nothing to do with the making of impressions.
Since the getting of respect is not one's objective.
Lawrence S. Pertillar
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158.
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Patrenialla - A Story Poem About The Undercover Christian-Rite Queen Of England, Queen Royalty Patrenia Turner And The Undercover Christian-Rite Keeng Royalness Troy Turner
Once upon a time - Not too long ago
When The Queen Royalty Patrenia also
Called The Patrenialla Queen was young and not old
Two clear skin looks both alike in 'Rite' identity
Held on to an old disagreement - Oh what a pity!
The Christian Rites argued both days and nights
With the lower caste called the Clearform Rites!
Asking who will be the darky to worky
Both days and into the nights?
They began praying to Jesus And He Is Christ!
He Is The Lord And Savior of many of our lives!
His decision was thought to be yes
And he summons forth a good Keeng Of Royalness.
It was Keeng Troy Turner. A good looking, good money earner.
And close by or dear and near to his side
Was Patrenialla his good wife, and his true loving bride.
Soon and very soon she was to be
The one to receive the dark skin identity!
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
RoyaltyPatrenia Turner, Queen Of England
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159.
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My Name Is Mom
It was brought to my attention after I became a Mom
That I was no longer me, but someone Id become
I am still the same person that I was before the kids
But the reference to my identity was different before this.
Now Im someones Mom, I dont even have a name
And I was slow to notice it, so who was I to blame?
Someone I barely know quizzically looks at me and says
I think I know your daughter, shes in my daughters class.
My name is D. I tell her and she looks at me confused
Shes waiting for my last name so it will give her clues
And here I must confess that her name as well eludes me
But her daughters name is Nancy, thats ironic dont you agree?
So for those of you awaiting the blessed event of your first child
Remember the words Ive written here for one day you will smile
When that little boy or girl grows up and steals your identity
Youll have to stop and remember just who you used to be.
Donna McCord
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160.
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Egg to Hen Poem
At first hard cover
Inside a
fluidity of identity
atomic alchemy
Boxing ring can be the hard holder of disciplinary existence
Break free, whether it is true or false to touch the sky of the true base of humanity no humiliated conceptualization process but the birth if the eye is the eye
if not blindness of life can happen it is an adventure of life, go for it
Shaping form and colours first, then conditioned concepts and innate concepts encounter life
sound and voice, the smallest units of human language
the hard holder asks the fluidity of the existing identity
what is the purpose of your life?
how would you end your life?
Form is now clear and idea is evolving out of complexity
Like a poem with possessing vehicle of predetermined destiny
Nyein Way
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