never mind the fact
that in your sickness
you tried to bury me
buried under the ruble
of false assumptions
that made you think
you new me
I can tell you
with absolute certainty
that you do not
I'm many things
and speak in many different ways
that only prolong the sweet destruction
I sometimes crave
when one stands in opposition
to the person I'am
that's always
sought out
peace
Mandeville 26
Everyone, while alive, longs to be an actor,
To direct their own life and be its author too—
All of it modeled on unvoiced, hidden fantasies.
A touch, a hurried breath, a whispered kiss—
All unfolding behind the curtains,
Yet displayed like a fetish in a brightly lit shop window.
"Dreams come true if you wish for them," goes the slogan,
And the body quivers in anticipation, until the over-saturated mind
Admits defeat before the unforgiving onset of old age.
But meanwhile, oblivion—written into the laws of humanity—
Comes to wash away the searing mark left by the tempest,
And the blood grows calm, lost in the winding paths of solitude.
I am a daughter.
I am a wife.
I am a mother.
Yes, I am a woman—
the creator of life,
the one who gives birth to an entire generation.
But beyond these relationships,
do I have an identity of my own?
As a daughter, I am expected to sacrifice.
As a wife, I am expected to compromise.
As a mother, I am expected to give endlessly.
Everyone sees the relationships I carry,
but who sees the woman behind those relationships?
Why must my identity always begin with
“someone’s daughter,”
“someone’s wife,”
or “someone’s mother”?
I was not born merely to fulfil roles.
I was born to live, to dream, to choose,
and to create an identity of my own.
It is time for women to step beyond the boundaries
that society has created for them.
Let us recognise our own worth,
raise our voices,
follow our dreams,
and build our own identity.
I am a woman.
I am not someone’s shadow.
I am an identity in my own right.
And now, it is time for every woman to say:
“Know me not only by the relationships I carry,
but by the person I am.”
Samara: "Opening the thimbles under the waxing moon, you'll wish it was waning in clock town's too soon."
Samael: "Over the mountain and through the woods to grandmother's house we go, with hand grenades and razor blades high-ho, high-ho, high-ho."
Uraeal: "To be so uncomely by the waxing moon is retarded at best, she picks too many daisies to be wolfish at a fest."
Helel: "Helel, or so I've heard, let's make this short and sour, for the dithery young girl."
Aurora: "Time passes like Time was incarnate let's ask the others here, if folly is so comely."
Gladius: "Moving the orchard like agrarian gregorian fools?" "Who made the large ice-bath beside the stilled moon?"
The Pro: "I came I saw I thwart not, sold out shows are not my conifers."
(Anonymized character) "I still build palaces on the moon, where stairway to heaven crosses the dark side of the moon."
---End of act IV---
Goodbye my favorite forever
Eternal fragments lost in abstract soup de jour
Our handshakes full of tremors
When the memories rain it's sore
My heart in freefall, falling up and out, forever's too soon
The paragraph on the backs of pictures stabs the point home
Skeletal strangers with nothing left to prove
The distance signals in real time leaving the breadcrumbs of
jarred hearts, painted candied hearts and Pacman ghosts in slow pursuit
The light of pumpkin eyes, rhymical in pursuit of boyish daydreams
Girlish looks of starving hearts depreciated, are less than pennies now
Parting words circled in funny papers still shaking with regret
When you see me in the folded memories
Just know you're not alone
Your light smiling on in the hollows of my eyes
Smiling in hindsight begging you to come home
Begging me to be brave
Goodbye my favorite forever
You're my long way out
In fading and in passing
Set me a long way down
Yes, I am. But, my eyes are special.
See, my eyes see through you, walls, time and space.
That’s the way they are: brown, but powerful.
And if I see you, you can’t escape!!
-------
vol 6, Multiples
They sat at the table
Casting lots for my demise
Totally unaware of my Master
With many connections and many eyes
He had already sent agents
To observe and make reports
Gathering the TRUTH
About what the deceived purport
They accepted her presence
But their plan was to use and pay
Obligation would run her legs
But the bit of money would make her stay
They had no idea she was bought
Paid for by the sacrifice of LOVE
All of her work on territory
Is never what the user is thinking of
"She's here to do our bidding
We say move and there she goes
Poor little slave girl with no money
Tossed about with every wind that blows"
In the midst of the brewing storm
A tornado of dust arose
The little slave girl, safe in the closet
While the fear kings perish in what LOVE knows
...TRUTH stands
as a little slave girl
Written by Trudy Schrader on 09-21-2026
as i stare in the empty streets
sitting in an alleyway
i ponder why only few people see me
though many people pass
and acknowledge i’m here
some of their hearts don’t agree
they see right through Peace
then, the other people
who actually care
they want the world
to stay safe in the watch
of me, Peace, known worldwide
to try hard to get through
the challenging phases
of life
whilst questioning all my eye can see
i feel clear
to try my hardest
so everyone can finally acknowledge
Me
I predict, A lost balloon inclused an airloon tomatoes;
I predict.obisidiam bitter sweet floral Midwestern tornados;
I predict. Spontaneous combustion yellow brick road;
Balls eyes view seedlings sprew, breaking ground;
Marine ponds, rivers. lakes over flows;
Aura radical green flash rich soil sound;
I predict autumn harvest in spite of the weather will be found graciously received
Broken shards on her
Like a shattered sawblade
Stuck deep in her body
Deep enough to reach beyond
And hurt her "was, is and will be"
Yet she chooses the light reflected on her
Instead of her mutilated image
Glass on me , but-
Am I a sculpture in glass?
delicate to touch
Fractured just from the fragility
Or molten sand poured on skin
Like a bandaid
Covering my burned skin
Fragile or Masked
Wounded or not
I may never know
Cause my glass never allowed me
To see myself as a whole
Saw meets me
For its reflection to see
Shards may dig her flesh
But the beauty in flesh still clear
She hugs me-
It hurts to share the shards
Like spears impaling both of us
For once pain was not only hers
For once I had real glass to blame
No one is home.
The address is returned to sender.
The user you desire to speak is no longer available.
To send a numeric page please press five now.
Ferment in the waiting room of life.
The catacombs of the mind are empty.
From the grave they will not rise.
The life you once knew is now fleeted.
You're out of time.
Exhale. Inhale. Exhale again.
False memory is not gospel.
Queue the piano, and bring in some coffee to go.
Crack a smile.
Adjust your tie.
Goodbye.
“Neither desire nor aversion
Meditation our immersion
Conditioned beliefs discarded
Hymns we hum are our own version”
After rain, the burnt paddock smells of iron.
Rusted wire hums along the boundary,
teaching the grass its old obedience.
All my life, I mistook such lines
for safety.
I do not have to follow.
My mind is a dry, hot wind
stirring the ash;
a frantic moth beating
against the unyielding wire.
It is the sudden clawing of a frightened animal,
the bitter, ancient lure of being right,
the tide that pulls the old hymns from my throat.
I do not have to follow.
Instead, cold rain enters the ash-dark soil.
The run-off clears, stripping the blackened crust
until desire and aversion
loosen their old grip.
A single grey thrush resumes its quiet call,
and what was rigid loosens into breath,
unbound from the boundary I carried within.
I do not have to follow.
I walk away from the rusted wire,
humming no song I was given—
only the rain’s small rhythm
finding its way through me.
I see myself at the tender age of five.
A strange loneliness I feel, and I am shy.
I wonder sometimes why I’m even alive.
I chase fireflies and watch clouds in the sky.
I’m fifteen, more confident and doing well at school.
I read, play records and dream about guys.
I like to think I’m nobody’s fool,
and I’ve no time for watching clouds in the sky.
I’m thirty and still, there’s so much ahead.
Married, with two kids, I am having great fun.
Health concerns haven’t yet filled me with dread.
I swim often in a pool and lay out in the sun.
I’m fifty; my children have long since left the nest.
I teach and write poems; I’m a grandmother too.
Except for health issues, these years could be my best.
Life’s gotten so busy. There’s so much to do!
By 70, I still feel blessed, yet also have some woes.
I care less for possessions and the world’s triviality.
I want to be grateful no matter how life goes.
I realize now my purpose seeking spirituality.
Born then drawn on your birth certificate
A full legal name and identity.
Some simple, short or long and intricate
It follows us always and plain to see.
We learn early on how to write our name
In simple letters or cursive styling
Our name travels with us as plain or vain
Through academia, records, filings.
What of streets, buildings or on monuments
Or long-faded through time and forgotten?
In directories high, like parliaments
Or lineage with children begotten?
In the end, but one written name alights
Is it written in the Lamb's Book of Life?
the broken camera in my hand,
the burnt film in yours,
is this our end?
what if i still want more?
the shards of glass fallen down,
i see my reflection torn,
the sadness turns to a frown,
where to have you gone?
colours are everywhere,
lights and fireworks,
Oh! such a beautiful stare,
but why suddenly this dark?
this swallowing sadness,
please save me, i'm lost,
an inescapable deep abyss,
it feels cold, as empty as trust.
is this me inside?
is this inside me?
i have no where to go,
where are the colours i once held onto?
it's all in monotone,
maybe black, maybe white,
i want to explore,
but i can't see any hope or light.
i see a little me who is vibrant,
what a pleasant sight,
i feel something vibrate,
and i wake up, with tears in my eyes.
-V.S
Identity Categories
Definition | What is Identity in Poetry?
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.
Related Poetry Forms
status, name, character, identification, existence, integrity, personality, singleness, self, coherence, uniqueness, distinctiveness, oneness, singularity, particularity, circumstances, selfhood, ipseity, selfdom, selfness, unity, equality, similitude, accord, semblance, likeness, uniformity, unanimity, identicalness, equivalence, congruence, agreement, rapport, congruity, oneness, empathy, selfsameness, resemblance, sameness,