I hide my head
Inside my shoulders
And tightly hold myself
To stay upright
/
‘What is it
About me,’
I begin
To wonder,
/
‘That makes me feel
So small,
So full
Of self-disgust?’
/
‘Which
Of the secrets
I won’t tell
Thus dwarfs me?’
/
‘Which
Of the lies
I told
Keeps me thus chained?’
/
I lower to the ground
My eyes,
Dark, wounded,
Haunted
/
And almost run,
Although,
I know I couldn’t
Run away
/
From shame:
It floods me
Every
Morning
/
I drown in it
Until
It’s all there is
To feel
/
‘What is it,’
I wonder,
‘I don’t know
About me,
/
That makes me
So deeply,
So relentlessly
Ashamed?’
/
Is it the fact
That I am
Truly
Devoid of beauty
/
Of any kind,
Known
And unknown
To man?
/
Is it that, like the air
Which feeds my blood,
I am
Polluted
/
With every kind of dirt,
Know
And unknown
To man?
/
Or is it, maybe,
That I am a woman,
Whose hands and heart
Are cold, incapable of love?
/
Or is it simply
That I am too human?
With hundred strengths,
And weaknesses, and doubts?
A very poignant poem…perhaps the answer is not internal but external…the way the world treats and conditions one to feel.
Thank you for your comment! I agree with you: her question, ‘what is it about me?’, does not arise out of nowhere or even out of herself – it is a question her environment inspires; naturally, it also influences her answer to it.
This is a powerful portrayal, identifiable. It also has a smooth flow that pulls you along. The conclusion is surprising and encouraging.
Thank you so much, Carl! I’m flattered that the poem managed to interest and surprise you.
Carl’s poem today seems very same theme
I supppose the question was in the air that day and the two of us just offered our respective answers.