Who am I ?
Who am I ?
A burning sensation to some,
For others, a cube of cold ice,
A tasteless element in someone’s life,
Perhaps, for others a rare spice.
I ruin their mood, they say,
For some, I fill colours in their palette of grey,
someone who appears out of nowhere,
a soul shaped by fear.
But who am I ?
I really want to know,
Am I a flower to preserve ?
or maybe a thorn to throw.
People here,
They have put me in the state of confusion,
One moment I hate myself,
The next moment, I sink into complete delusion,
But who am I ?
Many say that I have a kind heart,
But these same humans,
hate me and push me apart,
Who am I ?
That final stroke that makes the painting incredible,
Or the dried out, forgotten paint in the colour tray,
That is replaceable.
But who am I, really ?
Perhaps, someone forced to grow up before her age,
A childhood buried in silence,
still echoing within her as rage.
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