Who am I?
The me writing this now is not the me anymore who wrote this poem three years ago. I still understand her though and feel her struggles.
I was eighteen at that time, which marked the starting point of a time period where I went on the journey of finding out who I really am.
Or else, I one day found an old photo of myself when I was four years old and I came to the conclusion that the person I now was isn’t fully myself, the person I am deep down in my heart. So I started to question everything about myself, about my interests, the things I liked and don’t liked, the way I behaved, how I handled my emotions, my fears, my dreams, etc. to find out what that is really me and what of it is dreams and expectations of other people and society.
That process was one of the hardest things I ever did. I uncovered a lot, a lot of it being things that hurt, old soul wounds that now came to light, and things that were uncomfortable to hear. But as hard as it was I decided to sit through it because I wanted to know it all, I wanted to know the truth, fully.
And what came out of it was truth in its purest form. I felt like I was able to breathe again. I saw myself again. And I know decided that I’ll never ever let her be buried under anything again which is not her truth.
I found my heart again, and I was able to understand its voice again after being deaf from all the noise of the people around me for too long.
I now am living from my heart again. I am living for me again.
And as a result of that, I applied for the Academy of Fine Arts here in Vienna, for their drawing departement, and the first step to getting in is already done.
I did that for me, and nobody else.
Same as pursuing my way to be an artist.
I do this for me.
Because I have found my heart again.
I have found me.
Is it a girl or a woman ?
I shake my hands, slowly
move my fingers, slowly
but it feels strange,
like it’s not me.
Like it’s another person.
Which hair colour does she have ?
Some say light – brown like hazelnuts,
others say pitch – black like the night.
I feel so empty but whole at the same time.
I found and lost myself at the same blink of an eye.
See, and that’s the problem.
So much names, looks, cultures, lives.
Who am I ?
Who am I ?
WHO AM I ?
Can you help me ?
Give me an answer ?
Is there even an answer ?
Or is that the price you have to pay
for finding yourself
over and over again ?
So many faces.
So many looks.
So many cultures.
So many lives.
So many voices.
So many hearts.
Beating inside of me.
To their own beat.
Playing each other numb.
And I don’t know to which one
I should move my body.
Left with so many beautiful hearts.
But without finding my own.
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