Wingword Poetry Prize 2020 is now open. Submit your poems today!

Who am I?

Aarohi Sharma

"Who am I? " A question that had always lingered on the tip of my tongue, a question who's answer played games with my words. A question who's answer I had always found in someone else's mouth. So therefore, I grew to swallow questions like this. I grew up swallowing questions like this.
I was forever a child to sit at the back of the class, knew no one would see me untill I raised my hand high enough. I was invisible to the world but mostly to myself. I never made my own tunes, kept on listening to other's verses of love songs, too naive to see the hate's disguise. Some would sing about the Sun and some would sing about the Moon. And believing their words I hoped to shower in love everyday and every night. I would stay awake all night, staring at the moon, looking at it through my eyelashes, blinking at it seducingly, asking it for any kind of affection. The sleep would come to me at the dead of the night, call out my name while clawing my clothes and yanking my hair, playing tricks with my brain yet try to sooth my demons. But I never let her win, too focused on being a tyro in love . The dawn would greet me with regret in it's smile, telling me to give up and close my eyes, I would shake my head, a no and wait for the Sun to come up. Thinking maybe with Moon it was not meant to be but with Sun maybe it will be different. So I stare at the Sun too with my bloodshot eyes, blinking at it seducingly, asking it for any kind of affection. My infidelity at it's peak, wide eyed I glance at the Sun, it recites me the tales from my past. He tells me about my father, a loving man who had given me many sweet scars. He tells me about my mother, a woman who would smile with tears in her eyes. Soon the good stories fade into the bad ones, the Sun tells me about that one summer I wanted to drown. Making my eyes imitate the brim of a river, tears cascade my cheeks in many different patterns. So I blink, looking away from it, epiphany. I bloom in colours even in grey situations. I am the drive light which cuts off the fog in late winters. I am the cold wind on a summer night. I am so much more than what they preach about. The me that's always smiling, the me that's always crying, the me that's always writing, the me that's always flawed. The me that's always insecure. The me that's always broken inside. That all of me is who I am.


Leave a comment