Identity Self Poems | Examples
These Identity Self poems are examples of Self poems about Identity. These are the best examples of Self Identity poems written by international poets.
I am nobody for you.
You don't know I exist, too.
I'm a simple, shy girl
with some sixteen-year-old fantasies, too.
You don't know me,
and I either, too -
but there's something
I feel, too.
Wanna step up,
getting high with you,
scared to fall
in the images, too.
How say hi?
How say bye?
I'm here,
watching you
side of my eye.
I'm stressed out,
how to say you...
I'm that nobody
for you,
'cause we are
in our own cage, too.
It’ll get done no matter
What it is you have to do.
And the beauty of it all
Is it’ll be someone different
Looking back on your accomplish
Than the one who did it.
Same river twice and all
Applies to everything, everywhere, everyone.
(8/28/25)
It is a long journey
from the first breath drawn
to the final sigh
our lungs release.
The search is not for a name
but for its meaning
to ask what it is
to stand fully human.
It winds through valleys of doubt
through alleys guilt dare not enter
a path with no shortcuts
only steps into the unknown.
It is not a destination
but a vast, shifting sea
no shore in sight
only thoughts adrift, seeking home.
I look at my soul killing its flaws. I appreciate it and let it do so. But when I came back to earth to show them a perfect human, I realized my mistakes made me who I am. Without my flaws, I am just a perfect human—but not me.
The circle turns, its edges smooth
A line that holds, yet... a line that soothes.
Its center still, its purpose clear
A timeless truth that gently... draws us near.
For to walk the circle is to see
The Self as part of infinity.
Its path unbroken, round and true
It holds the many, yet... speaks only, to you.
If your behavior is a reflection
of what others say you are,
you’ll behave as they like
because you don’t want to be alone.
When you search within,
you’ll find your authentic self.
By being who you are,
you no longer have a fear of being alone.
Our identity within existence,
which reworded, simply means the ego,
pursues narrow goals, which is resistance,
to attachments we are loathe to let go
and therefore truth of Self we do not know.
Such a seeker ascends in vibration,
domain hopping across God’s creation.
Siddhis or powers imbibed and displayed,
keep such a seeker distanced from the source,
shifting roles, in different domains played,
until self-realising use of force
is of no avail, so then shifts life’s course.
Who God is we can never realise,
unless wayward ego we vaporise.
Jack 155 10 Mar 2025
I met my younger self today
He insisted it was at the pub
He needed to be comfy and had much to say
I declined his offer of a pint
Declaring I’m good with the water, thanks anyway
He insisted, come on have a beer, it’s what we do
I told him, one day he will know, he lives in the darkness of extreme
I remind him of the expression of two ears and one mouth
Wishing him mindful awareness, that might cure his deafness
He told me stories that I already know, saying it’s all just about fun
I spoke about all the untold waste, not just of time and money
But of lost days and unexplored capability, potential and provision
I looked my younger self firmly in the eyes
I explained that life shouldn’t be about regrets
But there will be what if’s, maybe’s and I wonder’s
I know he hadn’t heard me, there certainly wasn’t any thank you
I just smiled, knowing that sometime in the future
He will say
I wished I’d met you earlier
In a rather egotistical
and pathetic attempt
to immortalize myself,
in something I lost,
everything.
And now that I’ve burned
all of my bridges and I’m drowning,
the only thing I have left
to do is work.
And it's not working.
And the only ones
praising my work
are little kids,
the same age I was
when I broke everything.
Lucky me.
I watch them do
the same foolish things,
reaching for pointless dreams,
immortalizing themselves
for no one and nothing.
What I wouldn’t do
to have something,
and what I wouldn’t give
for something
worth saying.
Empty words
look prettier
when they’re
written in blood.
And trust me,
it’s dripping
straight out of
my pen tip
and into my lungs.
I wish that
instead of pneumonia
I had amnesia.
Maybe then,
I could forget about
all of this.
I'm not feeling at all myself today—
I see a sea of selfies.
adrift in a mirror maze,
floating as reflections that are lost
in a hall of posed intentions.
Each face is a practiced smile.
a seance of polished poses,
looped like circling carousel horses,
whispering secrets they pretend are mine.
I forge new versions of myself daily,
crafted to echo what strangers crave,
me to be, or to become, not what I truly am,
hiding in the hollow eye sockets of the masks.
As for me, I feel more like I'm becoming.
A be, yet to be; a question still unraveling.
I'm a stem cell of identity.
Not yet fixed, not yet become,
with a fluid potential to be everything,
or just a little bit of nothing,
all in the same breath.
My shadow lingers behind me.
Faithful, yet mute, and blind—
unable to speak or swim,
or survive the spotlight’s glare.
It hides my darker inner self from me.
That none of my selfie reflections,
in the mirrors ever want to see.
March Comes In Like A Lion
Dandelion dance
in the palm of my
hand; a gentle
bloom.
I love
my birthday
flower.
Things don't always have to make sense because no one makes the rules
I can say and do things the way i want because i do what I choose
God has given me free will so who are you to take that away
There is no established rules when it comes to what i do and say
There does exist a right way but i want to take a different route
That's what makes us different from what comes up out of our mouths
What i do may not makes sense to you because that's what makes me, me
No two people are the same so you may not could see what i see
What you find tacky and ugly i might find as a treasure
What you find boring and sad might bring me untold pleasure
No one can dictate or tell another how to be
The one dictating might care a lot while the other one is care free
I'm easily amused and happy and can see a whole lot out of nothing
Just because a person has their ducks in a roll don't mean they actually have something
Maybe i like being weird and i might at times seem dense
But i really don't care that much about everything making sense.
I’m on your lap
in a photo I no longer have—
a toddler with a borrowed brush,
my hand caught mid-daub
on your canvas.
It was staged, of course—
your painting for a calendar
on the easel in front of us
like the month you gave me
a tool of your craft
and I mistook it
for permission—
but my brush didn’t
paint like yours.
Sometimes I wonder
if you saw it,
the difference—
or if you just liked
how I held the brush,
intent on nothing more
than becoming you.
I no longer try
to paint like you.
I paint like me—
and I think you'd smile
to see what I’ve done,
though my brush still doesn’t
paint like yours.
"If you put a really small value upon yourself, rest assured that the world will not raise your price." --Anonymous
Hard to be a humble soul
In a world of silver and gold
Some rather tweet than to speak
Others prefer cookie cutters than unique
Self esteem is like a boat's sail
Without it more likely to fail
It’s ok to ride tides pride
Yet still stay humble on inside
A mirror isn't just a frame,
A sheet of glass that speaks your name.
It shows your image. Yes, it's true–
But now the whole of what is you.
It doesn't bend, it doesn't fake,
It captures truths you cannot break.
But mirror hide in the other forms–
In quiet thoughts, in silence storms.
In words that bruise, in eyes that know,
In shadows you still fear to show.
Not every mirror dare to shine–
some show the crack you called divine.
So ask yourself what mirrors mean–
They’re more than Polished, silver, clean.
They’re, everything that lays you bare–
Your secret grief, your silent prayers,
The mirror speaks without a sound–
It sees the soul where truth is found.
~hira~