Who is only Me

An exploration of identity

 

Who is only me?

The noise deep in my head

A million children screaming

Like an echoing noon whistle

A construction crew constantly constructing

 

I crawled inside to find the sane person

But she is buried deep in the mazes

Of gasping thoughts

Old graying pictures

Covered in green and black fuzz

 

Trinkets tarnished

Twisted wedding bands

Shadowed promises

Purple and blue wishes

 

Gilded tools that have long lost their use

Keys to places that have never existed

 

I called to her

She sat staring in the broken wreck of a mirror

Her hair in matted clods

Her t-shirt a rainbow of stains

On one foot a tennis shoe the other a broken gray high heel

 

She whispered, her voice a splintering vase

The telephone won’t stop ringing

His supper needs to be on the table at five

The clocks ticking time is yellow

 

There are mountains of moldy laundry on the basement floor

And I am sure that the dog has killed the cat

The kids are shrieking

And I think that I will sleep a while

But his face is frozen in a constant scowl

 

I hung the freshly tied noose yesterday

It swings freely in the attic

But there is no silence

And death is afraid to come

He cannot sneak the fiend that he is

 

He cannot creep the way that I do

Between wife, mother, father, daughter

Grocer, nanny, mechanic…

 

But I hear this time of year that hell is quiet

The fire flickering burning itself down to smoldering embers

I don’t care about the cool heat

Nothing can sear into my flesh

Like meaningless words upon a blank page

That God himself, in all his brilliance

Cannot bring his omnipotent eyes to gaze upon

The long and winding script of my life

That he sat typing

On a typewriter that is missing keys

 

If you had half a brain, you’d be dangerous

He screeches, like the tires of a speeding car coming to a relentless halt

The insults slap my skin and brain

Stinging like a thousand needles

But he never halts he only screeches on

 

The pain lasts for a few moments

But it is a b***h to wash off

No one else can see it

But it’s fused to my skin

 

Can the hottest shower wash away?

The feeling that sticks to my skin

A fat leech, growing fatter

Or perhaps it is only my skin

 

I want to wash it all away

To get down to what is underneath

To swim in my translucence

And to find the me that I have lost

To answer the question that picks

Like droves of starving birds at my brain

Who is only me?

 

The grasping, jerking, ripping,

Peeling of layers to find

 

Who birthed the screaming child?

That smells of spoiled milk and soiled cloth

Whose screams cause me to pace?

And pray for death

 

Not to cease breathing

But to be immersed in silence

That would deafen

The deafest man

A place where sound ceases to continue breathing

 

A place to ponder

Who is only me?

 

Am I she who cooks the meals

That fills the air with sour stenches

Or she who wipes the spittle

From his dying lips

 

Am I she who rolls the striped red ball

To he that pulls my tangled hair

Or am I her that is a blank disk

When it comes to what she knows about herself

 

Am I she who knows not

Her favorite food

Her favorite color

Or what she wants to be

 

Am I she who takes the blow

And grovels like a starving dog for a piece of rotten meat

Or am I he that delivers with success

The needed force to rock her head

Upon her shoulders

Like the branch of a wind whipped tree

 

Perhaps I am she who pushes the squeaky wheeled cart

With the mulling child

Over the dingy white linoleum

Picking the reddest apples, the greenest grapes, the yellowiest bananas

Waving like a wind sock to those who say my name

And whisper behind my back

 

Am I she who tells the backbiters to go to hell

Or she who hangs her head and ponders their truths

Because who could tell a lie about her

That could not tell a lie from truth

Because she does not know

 

Perchance I am she who needs to sit alone

In front of the blinking cursor

And cross out the typos on Gods ever winding script

To fix the letters that have been carelessly left out

To add an I and possibly a me

To fix the identity

 

Or maybe I do not need an identity

Because who is anyone to define who is me?

But myself

 

Am I not sister if I choose?

Am I not only mother, but also me?

If I rewrite God’s poorly written script

Will I redefine?

In my own context upon that blank screen

With that cursor blinking

God’s eye watching me

Who is really and truly me…

 

Conceivably it does not matter

I could traipse thoughtfully through

The graveyard in my brain

And dig through and peel away the layers

 

Searching blindly

For who is only me

Questioning the sane woman

Combing and washing her matted hair

Changing her stained clothing

Choosing between sneakers or high heels

 

Cleaning up the broken reflection

Removing pieces of me

Discarding in the trash

Pieces of myself

Unconsciously aware that in my search

I am throwing away me

 

With every I

A piece falls away

Sliding down the blackened

River of Lethe

Lost in my determination for clarity

Which has turned my

Transparent waters

To brown chunks of opaqueness

 

Trying to find

Who is only me

Is it not for me to identify?

Can I not assign an I or a me?

Is the woman whose matted hair?

I cleansed and combed

Not the same woman

 

Does the sneaker or the high heel

Change who is only me

Does it not give me clarity?

Or is it a symbol

For what I have created

Not a me but an identity

And further more what is an identity

Does it define who is only me

Or does it carve in stone a

Picture that I have created

Of the perfect picture of me

One that fits

A keystone in society

 

Or was I always me

If I step from the muddied waters

Pull the broken shards of glass

From where I have discarded them

Mess the austerely fixed hair

 

And return the mad sane woman to her spot

Where the reflection of me lay in pieces on the ground

Should I help her reassemble the wreck?

Or should I leave her be

 

For in all my searching

I still stare at her and wonder

Is she only me?

 

 

 

 

 

Author's Note

This was an exercise for my Queer Literature course. It is an exploration in queer identity and queer bodies. It had to be five pages, and so the poem is long winded, but I learned a lot about myself when I was writing it.

Reviews

[[untitled]]

I'm sure it was as interesting an experience as reading it. Very unique. Thank you for sharing