Midnight Thoughts (Poetry)

Shades of Identity

I have been having
all these thoughts
since our last talk
and I want to voice them
'cause it's killing me.
But I can't.
The only way
I have never known
how to express myself
is through writing.
I write and I write
'cause it's all I really know.
Maybe one day,
I will be able to spill my soul
through my voice
but until then
I will have my poems
speak for me.
Louder than my own voice
ever could.
I was never about the words,
but the meaning behind them.
Words were
the kind of shoulders I needed
when people forgot
that I was a human being too...
You made me
feel like a cruel person,
like a dangerous human being
ready to rage water erode,
like a volcano about to erupt
and everything that is standing
in my way will be destructed,
like the Grand Canyon,
so empty as a whole,
like an uncontrollable fire
that's about to burn down
all the things surrounding me,
like the most horrible human
that ever walked on this earth
and I wanted to tell you everything
I thought about
the whole damn thing,
my feelings and emotions
but if I had,
I would just be proving you right,
I would have become
the mean monster
you made me believe I am.
For fucks sake
I already have myself
for that.
You brought back
all the doubt and negativity
that crept into the
darkest corners of my mind,
all the ghosts and the demons
that haunt my soul,
all the thoughts and insecurities
that live in the depths of my core,
I fought so hard to tame it.
You reminded me
how rotten I truly am.
Why did you do that?
It hurts.
It really does.
Did I really mean so little
to you?
Was it because I made the pain
seem easy to deal with?
Is that why you made me
go through it again?
I was making progress.
I was finally doing better.
It's not fair.
It's fucking not.
I am not the thing you
or myself say I am.
I am the earth during spring
that spreads life
I am a field of flowers
gently blowing in the breeze,
I am the ocean
gently kissing the shore
and I am the stars
twinkling and illuminating
the night sky.
I am no canyon,
I am no volcano,
I am no endless winter
and I am definitely not empty.
I am gentle and I am kind.
I am genuine and I am real.
I am thoughtful
and I am sensitive.
My skin is not bulletproof
nor is it made from steel,
it gets scarred easily and it hurts.
It's like a sponge
soaking in all the words
aimed at me,
drowning me in thoughts
that I cannot fathom
into constellations.
You know that already though.
Heartbreak scars souls,
even if you believed
that my heart is made of steel
it can still burst into flames.
I am just a poet who greets misery
into every smile she owns
but who cares if there's a void
in my soul?
Who cares if I can't get attached
to anyone?
Neither can Michelangelo's David.
He is still beautiful.
So what if sometimes
I am Van Gogh's Starry Night
and some others
I am his suicide letter?
I am still a beautiful soul.
Perhaps writing
is just a habit of mine,
as I write my way through
the shades of my identity.
But art is a way
for the soul to grow
and maybe one day
I will be able to plant on
the graveyard of my head,
to create a garden
full of joy and positivity.
After all, flowers can grow
in the strangest places.

To all those wrestling with internal battles: 

I know the turmoil that rages within you, the doubts and fears that cloud your thoughts like an unyielding storm. Each day feels like a relentless struggle, where uncertainty and insecurities threaten to overwhelm. Don't let anyone add to your conflicts, self-criticism is hard enough to begin with. Know that you are not alone, we are all intertwined, bound together by the threads of insecurities and past traumas.

Thank you for still reading my poems.

Amalia G.