A Poem (Who Am I?)

Who am I?
The person that embodies the unique skills to see the world empty of its corrupt occupants and mind-boggling sky scrapers that although hold a great architectural masterpiece in its creation, it also takes away from the heavenly gardens that once lived there. Am I the person that writes and wishes to one day being published so that others may understand what is in my mind? So that my ideas and thoughts do not die right along with me.

When I was a girl, I was sure my mind was like no other, unique as the skill to see the world. It was a comforting guide, and I felt my soul to be rich with a treasure incomparable to others. I was sure I could indeed be an alien, a prophecy, or just another brilliant mind seeking to be somehow understood without necessarily having to stand up and speak—public speaking is not my forte. And although writing may come natural to me, I am imperfect. Spell-check and the English dictionary/thesaurus are my best friends.

So...Who am I?
The person that looks out her window and gazes upon the grass, wishing she could transform herself into Thumbelina so that she could more closely study the creatures that live down below. Someone who just stares at the sky- morning, noon, or night and cries upon witnessing its everlasting beauty. A person that looks to the future, hoping for the day she settles in front of a pure, landscape to just breath the fresh, essentiality of air.

I am human after all. Made of flesh, bone, muscle, under-lying tissues and organs. With nerves that send these sometimes annoying messages up my spine and into my growing, never-tiring brain. I can make mistakes. In fact, I DO make mistakes. I can slip from the path and trouble my soul with heart wrenching, gut twisting and pain causing mistakes, ones that also affect the people surrounding me—the same people that will never fully understand me. But then again who can? Sometimes, even I can't.

Who am I?
The person that will constantly battle with the person I want to be, know I am inside but never can fully accomplish that being in its truest, visual form. My mind, the person I am inside my mind, will forever be a part of me. I am bonded to myself. The personality that has always been, and the one society has chosen for me. The person I know and love, and I the one I despise to look at in the mirror. The one that makes choices without my authority, without my consent. She parades on in and destroys all I have built and then she leaves me the mess to clean up all alone. I have to answer to what she has done because she is the one that all others see. She is my evil twin, my other half, myself. She is me and I am her. Split in two yet entirely bonded for all eternity.

She is who I see in the photos, smiling and seemingly content with the moment being depicted. She is the one that throws tantrums and hits the walls, crushes hearts and swears to hate all and not give a dam about no one not even herself. She haunts my dreams and my realities. She is everywhere I look. She is my reflection. I won't ever be rid of her and at the end I don't want to be. Because the day she dies is the day I die. She is I.

Who am I?