Who am I?
I asked the Demon under my bed.
I got no reply,
While he remained there.
And so, I kept asking.
To whoever could answer
Or whoever wanted to try
I kept asking.
In a faraway land,
Where fairies roam free:
With the tallest trees I’ve ever seen
All painted with greens, and blues, and reds,
I can be myself.
Where the animals talk to me,
And they help me realize:
That maybe it’s true.
Someday I too can be free.
The nightmare comes back–
In scales of black, white and grey.
The cold feeling of the floor,
And the ink puddle of drowned sorrows,
I wonder, again:
I am who?
Or at least I ask,
But there’s never an answer.
The portal opens once more,
The elks and the owls bow down to me.
They compliment my outfit:
Tailored with reality and hopes
Of sometime wearing the suit:
The suit with a jacket and a shirt of “what is”,
And a golden tie of “what could be.”
The suit I so much adore.
And as I enter, so do I come back.
To a world of pessimistic parables of ponderous possibilities,
Riddled with questions unanswered and unanswered questions.
Manifested in a glimpse of purple,
But not royal or silk, just goopy and slimy,
Sticky and murky.
As soon as it touches you
It’s hard to escape it.
But so comes the darkness,
A dark blue dotted with white.
Shining the brightest—
Everlightest.
Here I can be,
Here I can stay.
For even when I leave,
I’ll forever remember.
In the remembrance reminded of remembering memories,
A place I call home.
A home with its doors open,
And its windows unlocked.
A place where I live,
Not only survive.
But the light comes back in,
And with her, so does terror.
And horror and screams, and pain and disgustingly deviant devices of torture.
I’m afraid of the light;
The darkness embraces me,
But the light only burns.
It makes my eyes water
To look at the sun.
It makes my heart ache,
To be there in the warmth.
But the coldness arrives,
And so it is warmest.
The snow feels so comfy,
A bed of white roses.
The spirits of past
Lay down with me,
And their stories of courage, bravery and valour.
They tell of how past,
A present so distant
And yet so present;
When pain roams around,
And suffering knocks on everyone’s door,
As death sobs,
And life smirks.
A comfortable funeral of presents and gifts,
And a rainy wedding of false promises.
A compromise to live,
A release to die.
An orchestra of dances,
That plays in G major and also D minor,
Moving in the crimson sweet taste of red velvet,
Singing and dancing in blood,
With red clouds and skies of red,
Riddled with remnants of rhetorical blues and greens.
While on the other side awaits
A longed-for liberty of lavish lilies.
Where asking who, doesn’t matter—
For we all matter,
And not so much of the pain and the sorrow;
Only a majestic golden bright shine of sunrise,
With orange, red, purple and blue.
I don this outfit,
And I don it with pride.
Even if they will not like it,
The sun will still shine,
And the moon will still gloom,
I am who I am.