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Poems On / About IDENTITY  11/23/2014 11:05:34 PM
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Best Poems About / On IDENTITY
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Our life experiences aren't the same.
We have our own personalites
And that's o.k.
But when that image has been changed.
By others who condemn you in everyway.
U struggle to keep yourself afloat.
When who you are, you seem not to know.
The journey to find one's self seem unsure.
The inner self broken and bruised.
Not to fear, theirs more in me.
Despite, the events that try hard to be.
My Identity is God's gift to me.
Everyone's unique, with much diversity.
So with God's grace put upon me.
Identity is also an inner beauty
That has yet to be seen.
Natasha McGee

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I Am...

I am in between.
An actor, a spectator.
A child, a grown-up.
Dream and reality.
My identity crisis is my identity.
And I am trying to keep it.
Trying to stay away from boxes.
Always happy?
Always sad?
I want to be both:
Happy-sad, jumping-crawling my way through life,
With a dancing shadow of Death on my shoulder.
Things in boxes stay in boxes,
Neatly put away where we think we can find them again.
I am determined to jump out,
Like a jack-in-the-box,
Spitting my humour in the face of the world.
Thomas Doubting

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Lonely God Behind My Eyes

There is a lonely God behind my eyes
Who still cries for you who are so far
Away, like a lost child forgotten who she is,
Her identity soothed away by time
So she becomes someone else’s child,
Though my God remembers how she played
Before him once or twice in the early days
Before the world was fully formed—
There is a lonely God behind my eyes
Who screams at things because you can not
Hear him, who hates everything he sees
And wanders far up into the glacial lakes
Of my cranium where he sits on a nameless
Stone and cries your name, the word
That would set him free if he saw you dressed
In the fine syllables your parents christened
You with. There is a lonely God behind
My eyes who has tried to commit suicide
Just because he no longer believed he existed,
Because he knows not a thing to be true
Except that you have walked away, like a
Ghost shed of identity, so now you float down
The roads and caress nameless men thoughtlessly,
Forever and ever forgetting how your love
Was the fulcrum for this creation, how
Everything began to bloom as you opened
Your eyes. There is a lonely God behind my
Eyes who still cries for you who holds the
Key, who has forgotten.
Robert Rorabeck

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The Taste of Cold Dregs

(a whisper reaches your ear:
‘nobody likes the taste of cold dregs…’
and you attach no meaning to it)

you linger reposed beneath the sinking light
the soft yellow glow that rightfully
to yesterday

and your face reflects
in the thin sheet of glass
behind which you remain
from everybody you’ve met
and everybody
you’ve yet to meet

your fingertips resonate with your
your mind resonates with
(it seems you‘ve misplaced your identity)

and a pretentious cup of tea
is all you’re living for

and you are defined only
by tea leaves and a herbal scent
upon your breath

(and you’ve never seen the future
in your tea leaves…
you’ve never even looked)

your imprints defile
a cracked cup
splattered with fading

and as the world passes by
you remain on your stool
(reflecting the soft yellow light)
sipping and sipping and sipping
your life away
In tiny portions

leaving only the fingerprints on your cup
and the cold, black dregs
(which taste bitter on your tongue)
to suggest
that you were ever there…
Abby Koning

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Poems On / About IDENTITY