The Halcyonite

Who am I

by Annabel

I really don’t know who I am 

I guess no one does

Life’s big question is “who am I?”

I ask myself this again and again,

again and again, 

again and

again,

again

and 

I still don’t know my answer. 

I have lost myself so deep in my ocean, my once cheerful young girl 

is now 

a ship lost at sea. 

I have worn a mask for 

as long as I can remember 

and now, 

I forgot

it was there.

I have never fitted in with those around me

unless I wear my mask

And now,

when I try and take off my mask, 

I realise I don’t know a single true thing about me:

a young girl lost at sea.

I have tried to slot in like a jigsaw puzzle piece yet

as soon as the mask is off

I become incomplete, a crooked piece

Now my puzzle has all its sides and corners 

but no middle pieces

I resemble a hollow picture

(Untitled)

by Tina

Each morning i wake 

I fear my own reflection. 

The mirror always breaks 

From its loss of affection. 

Each time I go out on dates

 I fear what might escape. 

Whether it be my souls hate 

Or the love they can’t relate. 

Sobbing softly she slithers into my ear. 

My chest is pierced as she opens her mouth,

 And tells me all the things i cannot bear to hear,

 Watching me cry at each word that comes out. 

My identity is a broken frame of art 

Where sabotaged strokes of colors decay,

 And the brushes bristles rot in each part

Of a canvas ruined by an artist’s dismay. 

“Who am I” I wonder for hours on end.

 Am I my own person? Am I unique? 

Or another sheep following trends? 

I may just be my worst critique. 

Time and time again lips have said 

I am a bubbly blistering blob of joy,

A solar sunshine soothing their heads,

 Or a caring cartridge filled of coy. 

I have met people from all 5 lands

 And all their thoughts state the same. 

I am not meant for anyones hands 

Nor am I made for a stable remain. 

My palms are cold to the touch

I am told by whoever holds them. 

My hands only heat up as they clutch 

To the painful base of thorny stems. 

In my loneliness resides my soul, 

My spirit you will never meet, 

A little girl getting old, 

A painting yet to be complete.

A lotus flower in the desert 

by Samara

A lotus flower belongs among the water, 

Dancing with a sea of crystal tear drops. 

Yet it finds itself lost not in a sea of tears, 

But a sea of desolate desert.

Passionate from thirst, 

Sharp grains of sand cut haphazardly through the air.

Unaware of why it cannot belong, 

The flower’s gauzy skin is tormented.

Neglected. 

Bounded by boundless time,

The flower secretes its last drop of sanity.

For if it is lost in which it does not belong, 

If it’s skin is slit by those who believe its existence wrong,

Why?

Why, if never seen the difference in its skin?

The Lotus flower wilted silently, afraid to wake the sand, 

“Why should I want to know who I am?”