Not made of clay...

"Who are you?", he declares from across the table.
I stare at him hard, trying to piece together his question.....who. am. I?

I'm already slapping myself for agreeing to have coffee. I knew it wouldn't help, yet he insisted we talk. Which basically means he's going to guilt trip me for not sharing his affections for me.

"Who are you, Alyssa?", he asks once more, interrupting my thoughts.

The more I try to reel that question in to a thought that could produce something meaningful, the quieter I become.
I hitch a breath and shake my head.


There comes a point in our lives where we get tired of being crouched and uncomfortable, so we decide to crawl out of the boxes we have fit in so perfectly these many years.
We stand up and try to find a new path, away from all the labels we've been given.
Our eyes are made of glass, giving back the reflection of those around us.
We contort our bodies and minds to fit the needs of others and let go of the ownership we were once given unto ourself.
We quit harboring the peace of possibilities and turn it into a heavy fear of the unknown.
We are all fearful of our own being and who we are, outside of mirrors.


Who am I?

I am not many things.


I am not the answer.
I am not the question.
I am not the type or the label.
I am not perfection.
I am not easy beauty.
I am not peaceful nights.
I am not the door.
I am not the window they look through to see someone else.
I am not the place or the time.
I am not the statistic.
I am not the one or her.

I am a deep rooted mess.
I am spilled milk and crying about it.
I am messy hair and salty tears.
I am fear and anxiety.
I am ambition and drive.
I am rough nights of sleep.
I am the secrets you keep.
I am the midnight call and the panic attack.
I am a problem and a solution.
I am a beating heart.

Who am I?
I am not yours.
I am not made of clay, malleable to your form.
Your arms form a question mark around me.
The words that dance on your lips can only stun me for a second.

I am mine.
Not to be touched or harmed.
I am my own.
Not to be poked or prodded.
I cannot be forced into a category of what is therefore, the "norm".

I am beautiful words of wisdom and the warm sun on a summer day.
I am the blue skies above the sea, and I am untouchable.

One day, you'll see.



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