There are two sides of me
No, scratch that,
Perhaps there are three.
The first is my favorite,
The woman I aspire to be.
She is somewhat of a wonder woman,
A warrior of the sort,
wielding her silver tongue like a steel sword,
She who carries the weight of the world on such tiny shoulders,
And with a bulletproof heart nothing can touch her.
Nothing can break her down.
Ladies and gentleman,
Meet the unrealistic part of me.
Then you have the second,
That hippie wanna-be,
The undomesticated side of me.
She who loves the harsh tang of cigarettes on the tongue,
She who relishes in the sweet sensations
That causes the blood to sing and the vessels to pulsate.
It is the thrills that she seeks,
To live without worry,
Live without care.
Basking in the guilty pleasures.
An unsettled soul in need of salvation
That girl is me.
But The most common of all is the third self,
That tiny mouse I sometimes become.
She who cowers to the darkest part of my mind,
Questions her worth,
Doubts and doubts until she is folded
Into a tiny ball of uncertainty.
There are words,
Towers of words
Skyscrapers of words
tucked away in her mind
And yet she can’t seem to utter a single one of them.
She who searches for vibrant colors in rigid white walls
And love in the most unlikely places.
She who becomes the cracks and bruises on her skin,
She who falls, and falters and crumbles from within.
That feeble person is also me.
Let it be known,
I have the personality of a messy color palette,
My blues, overlapping the greens
And reds making, yellows and violets .
They say that creation is sometimes messy,
And I am nothing but a chaotic creation.
A fickle child I so often become,
Indecisive and giddy,
One day wanting one thing,
And the next craving another.
My desires change swifter
than the direction of the wind.
So every morning as I wake and shake
of the haze of the night,
and welcome the glare of the blinding sun,
I ask myself.
Which of my many selves am I going to be today.