By Ashlee

I wrote this poem because I grew so tired of trying to figure myself out.  I realized that I can be free from definitions, free to be whatever I feel like being.

“The Unidentified Girl”

So many voices, so many faces

She isn’t a definite person

Just an outline that can be

Filled in differently every day

You try to pin her down

With an explanation

But she’d change before

You got the words out

And she’d fly far above

The sound of your voice

She’s made of the same fabric

That a leaf or flower petal is

And she’ll easily tear free

From your boxes

Of descriptions

Companion Poem:

“Who am I?” by Dietrich Bonhoeffer

Who am I? They often tell me
I stepped from my cell’s confinement
calmly, cheerfully, firmly,
like a squire from his country-house.

Who am I? They often tell me
I used to speak to my warders
freely and friendly and clearly,
as though it were mine to command.

Who am I? They also tell me
I bore the days of misfortune
equally, smilingly, proudly,
like one accustomed to win.

Am I then really all that which other men tell of?
Or am I only what I myself know of myself?
Restless and longing and sick, like a bird in a cage,
struggling for breath, as though hands were
compressing my throat,
yearning for colors, for flowers, for the voices of birds,
thirsting for words of kindness, for neighborliness,
tossing in expectation of great events,
powerlessly trembling for friends at an infinite distance,
weary and empty at praying, at thinking, at making,
faint, and ready to say farewell to it all?

Who am I? This or the other?
Am I one person today and tomorrow another?
Am I both at once? A hypocrite before others,
and before myself a contemptibly woebegone weakling?
Or is something within me still like a beaten army,
fleeing in disorder from victory already achieved?
Who am I? They mock me, these lonely questions of mine.
Whoever I am, Thou knowest, O God, I am Thine!

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