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
Copyright © Olumide Oladipupo | Year Posted 2025
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