THE PRISMATIC SELF
In the hall of mirrors, I lose my face
A maze of reflections, each one a different shade
Of truth and lies, of light and darkest space
I search for the real me, but it's hard to stay
The judges' voices whisper, "Not enough"
A litany of doubt, a choir of rough
Hands that shape and mold, yet can't define
The contours of my soul, the lines that make me mine
I write to be seen, to be heard, to be known
Yet in the arena of words, I'm overthrown
By fears and doubts that masquerade as facts
And the masks I wear, a dizzying array of acts
But still I pen these words, a self-portrait in shards
A synesthesia of pain, a colorless hum of doubts
That echoes through my mind, a haunting melody
A reminder of the self-fracture that I can't define
And when the verdict comes, will I be brave?
Will I don the cloak of validation, or the shroud of shame?
The answer lies within, in the prismatic self
A kaleidoscope of contradictions, a messy, beautiful wealth
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
