Finding Myself

A random midnight poem.

Introduction

As some of you may already know, I'm a night owl. And if you didn't know, well, now you know. I'm one of those rare species whose peak of creativity occurs at midnight, when the rest of the world is doing what you should be doing too: sleeping.

That's been me since day zero.

The point is, here's one of the many results of those crazy nights I sometimes spend without sleeping until the wee hours of the morning.

I've never paid much attention to the rules of poetry; I feel they limit me too much. So what you find might not be the most meaningful thing in the world. Sometimes it rhymes, sometimes it doesn't; sometimes it's long, sometimes it's concise.

However, I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. It was really refreshing to write some Abigail-esque poetry after so long. I might do this more often from now on!

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The poem

Where will I find myself? 
Where does my old self end and my new version begin? 
I've been told I have charisma, 
That I do everything with passion.

Where will I find myself?
Where will I ever find my definition?
I'm told I brighten every day,
That in my personality there's sparkle somehow. 
Is my joy truly what defines me?

You never give up, they say
You're always there to protect.
When things go wrong you don't run away,
And while fighting you always show respect.

Where will I find myself?
Where does my old self end and my new version begin? 
Cruel, they call me,
They look at me 
And their eyes say "unworthy."

When my tears fall I'm overacting, 
That's what they say. 
And while some see kindness, 
Others simply see coldness.

I've found that I am not what they say,
That I am neither my laughter nor my tears.
I have found that I am broken and scattered,
That I am not a single piece that fits together.

Where will I find myself?
Where does my old self end and my new version begin?
I have found that I am not myself,
But the pieces of my Lord's creation embedded within me.

I find myself in the cool breeze of a foggy morning, 
I find myself in the desire of always be learning.
I find myself in the cry of the wind lost in the woods,
In sweet coffee, yellow roses and old books.

I find myself in the laughter of a little child,
And in the impulses that some call wild.
I find myself in a burning sunset,
In the way people tell me a secret.

I find myself in the slow winter morning, 
In an afternoon of exciting reading.
I find myself in spontaneous laughter and crazy thoughts,
In the colored dust that paints the wings of monarch butterflies. 

I find myself in the ink that spills from the pen and corrupts the paper,
In the thunder that roars first softly and then louder.
I find myself in an afternoon of baking,
In the brightness of the dawn breaking.

Where will I find myself?
Where does my old self end and my new version begin?
I have found that I am not myself,
But rather the pieces of a story's memories.

I am what I touch, smell, and enjoy,
I am what I make, give, or say.
I am not a place or an inanimate object, 
Nor a handful of foreign words.

Places, people, and seasons,
These and more will come and go.
But in the pieces God has built me with,
I will always find myself.

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Playlist and farewell

Turns out this whole thing started as a Pinterest board I titled "Myself," where I would throw in anything random that defined me, from a meme to my style of dress. Then I created a playlist with the same theme, only this time with songs that specifically defined my personalities/moods. And you can find it at the button! I recently made it, so I'm still working on it (no kidding, the care with which I choose each song should be illegal).

On another note, I firmly believe that poetry shouldn't be learned or taught, but rather felt and expressed. That it shouldn't be measured by metrics but by heartbeats. That it should be embellished with humanity, not vocabulary. I believe poetry is a language of the heart that slowly dies in the abyss of ignorance, and that we let get lost in the gaps of generations, without stopping to consider that more than an art we lose humanity and, therefore, connection with what matters most.

But I'd like to try a little experiment, and for that, I need your help. So, leave your takeaways from this poem in the comments. And, if you're up for it, share about the pieces where you find yourself. It'd be an honor to read you ;)

Anyway, I won't bother you any longer and I'll let you get on with your lives.

Behind the letters, a night owl that happens to be a girl 🌹

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