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Poems On / About IDENTITY  12/18/2014 8:21:00 AM
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Please dont delet me.

Hey wait,
Please don't delet me,
Look I have a name too,
An identity that reads,
A lad full of dreams,
A profile so complete.

But the brief a/s/l,
Was enough for her,
To discriminate me,
As she deleted my id.
Poor me,
Sat on her ignored list.

The chat session expired
And the profile left unread.
How easy it was for her,
To jump up to conclusion,
And no time to spare,
For my part of story.

And with broken connection,
I sat wondering,
Where does all time go?
All of them seem so busy
That they can't even reply
To my sweet little Hello.
Punit Parikh

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Read more: identity poems, time poems, dream poems



Her personality? Her identity?

There it is, all of it.
Gone, and never ever coming back, ever.
It felt like she was throwing away her most prized poession.
She wondered what the new one would be like?
Obviously nothing like the old one, she knew that.
No one liked the bubbly, friendly, sweet girl inside her.
Instead they wanted her to be a boring serious woman with no fun in her life,
If that's what you could even call it - a life.
She never understood why her family never liked her personality,
It was who she was, what made her, her identity.
But now they'd changed her.
Her friends never realized the change in her, as while with them she pretended nothing was different and tried to act as normal as before.
To them she was still the girl who found the funny side of everything and the girl who always had a smile on her face.
She wasn't though, it was all an act, for she no longer felt the warm glow deep inside her when she saw the smiling faces of her friends and family, no, now she felt a dark hatred feeling like something was missing or lost,
And to find it she must find herself, her true identity.
What was her true identity? The question stuck midway on her tongue.
Never to be spoken, yet never to disappear.
Jodie Louise Pollock

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According To The Flesh

According to the flesh;
In sincerity of the heart;
Helping you to fix things in the right order.

In 1416 love was made!
And, you were just a girl when love came to you;
After it, a child was born!
And, you always remember November because of the act.

This chils is yet to get an identity,
The true identity!
With the age of time;
Then came 1981;
Which was 565 years after,
Identifying the code of the name given to your child.

Nature, lust, pleasure!
According to the flesh;
But, how long can we live to fulfil our respective dreams?
On this matter,
With this issue,
On earth.

Nature, lust, pleasure!
The lost child;
Without a true identity,
But, living around.
Nature, lust, pleasure!
With the muse of history,
After 565 years;
After three failed abortions recorded by the mother.
Edward Kofi Louis

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The Elusive Self.

I am reasonably happy with my own name, but if not,
I could easily change my name by deed poll,
and there are more than a few people who do this.
I like elegant, but uncommon, names like Arlen Specter.

Those who change their names must feel, to some extent,
that they have a new identity, not necessarily in the extremes of
good and evil like Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, but a new social identity
when others greet them by their new name; like starting a new life.

There are yet others who have several aliases to use
in different countries; they are usually lawbreakers on the run,
of whom Ronald Biggs of The Great Train Robbery was one.
Do they ever regret not keeping to their given name?

Does my identity change with the passing of time?
My body is the same one, though the cells keep changing,
and the weight is never constant from week to week.
My mind, however, has changed a great deal since youth.

Am I the same self now that I was at twenty?
Despite all the bodily changes, in height and weight and
despite the kaleidoscope of moods, the highs and lows,
I disagree with David Hume, the philosopher, and say: 'Yes.'

_23 October,2014.
michael walker

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Poems On / About IDENTITY