Who do I want to be? This question vibrates through my soul. I used to want to be a visionary, a complex writer with artistic perspective and a poetic rhetoric within his prose. I spent a twelve month period trying to tune myself to the beat of ripped drum shaped heart. I want to be the man that my bronze-skinned lover wanted me to be. I was told that I’d lost my smile, my laugh. I tried so hard and with great effort to be the charming boy she and so many others desired. Who was I becoming? Nineteen years old still claiming to be a boy when everyone sees me as a man, I’m afraid of responsibility and the things to come with being called a man yet I’ve called myself one thinking I was ready. I’m too fearful.
My soul was thrown upon a borderline, to sort out my weak cries or to hold it all in.
I spent autumn in fear. I drowned myself in my woes and tossed my mind into dark pits. I spent autumn lost in love. Trying to reconcile my faulty relationships with women who tossed me aside so that I can feel everything but alone. I was chasing after my fears instead of chasing after their hearts. I attempted to recapture my psychotic past-tense lover who grew more and more distant but claims to be in love with me. She withdrew her emotions and lay within a cocoon of her tiresome sighs. In this space in time, I was doing anything to meet myself inside the arms of a woman. I didn’t know what else to do when my whole world had been stolen and thrown off kilter when I found it again.
I keep asking myself the same question over and over: “who do I want to be in the New Year” I’ve been eager to give a cliché response of “new year new me” but I won’t lie to myself or even anyone else. I’m content with who I’m becoming as much as I hate the depressive moments I’m still living. What is life without these pitiful downtrodden moments in life? Without them we aren’t really living life if all we want is simply placed in front of us. I’m gifted with my words and the using my dark times to create works of writing that others admire even though I hate them.
I don’t want a new me in the New Year; I am who I am.
Many people can’t begin to place themselves. They are defined by the groups and friends they cater to. Define yourself don’t let everyone else define you. I spent a twelve month period trying to tune myself to the beat of other’s seemingly better sounding drums. I tried to mock their rhythms but all I had to do was listen to my own drum no matter how tattered and beaten down it was. Sooner or later I’ll die, it could be tomorrow or as I finish writing this great symphony to share with my few peers who attempt to understand me from these dark poems and hymns.
This is who I am. This is who I’ve always been, I’m a boy who’s afraid to grow up and finally be a man. This isn’t who I want to be but I’ll use the remaining heart I have left to chase down my dreams and grasp what I think I want. I’ll never know what I truly want. I’m not sure anyone does anymore. I should try to save myself, at least save someone else before it all goes much more downhill.