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Who I Am

by Spencer Dillenbeck, my son, age 19

A chunk of clay settling into its mold
A painting yet to dry
A matching hand I cannot hold
A block of cheese before its mold
But even I do not know why
The answer is unknown to me
A rock on the cliff I cannot reach
A phantom I can’t see

I am
ABOMINATION
An amalgamation of the things that have shaped me
But nothing really seems to…
fit?
work?
stay together?
feel… right?
It all feels so…
messy.
needless.
uncomfortable.
unwanted.
The clay has yet to finish molding
But the mold refuses to hold

A painting yet to dry
A matching hand I cannot hold
A block of cheese before its mold
But even I do not know why
The answer is unknown to me
A rock on the cliff I cannot reach
A phantom I can’t see

I am
DEFINITION
A story written by hands that feel foreign
They’re mine, these hands
Surely
The story is mine
Surely
It’s all… nonfiction
Surely
But the ink’s invisible to me
The pictures don’t match the words
Because they aren’t there
But when I watch others take my hands
and paint what I can’t see
It all feels right and natural
It all makes sense to me

A matching hand I cannot hold
A block of cheese before its mold
But even I do not know why
The answer is unknown to me
A rock on the cliff I cannot reach
A phantom I can’t see

I am
DISTRUSTFUL
But perhaps I should explain
I trust those I care for
those I love
And I feel obligated to
They’ve given oh so much to me
It’s the least I can do
But once they put the mirror up
And look into my eyes
I am the only one who cries
I am the only one who sees
my LIES
I can’t let myself stay this way
Too many things I want to change
But it all feels so strange
I can’t take this hand
I can’t take this chance
So many ways to alter my stance
But I feel locked into this trance
In which I glance
into the abyss
And the abyss glances back
I have to look away
I can’t look at this
I can’t look like this
I can’t act like this
I can’t be
this

A block of cheese before its mold
But even I do not know why
The answer is unknown to me
A rock on the cliff I cannot reach
A phantom I can’t see

I am
UNREMARKABLE
I don’t see what people see in me
I’m not special
or talented
or smart
or cool
or trendy
or fashionable
I’m not that finely aged jazz you see on the top shelf
That’s the good stuff
That’s what people think is best
Nobody touches it because they don’t want it to go away
They want it to stay
But I’m left deformed and in pieces
Not because people keep eating me
If that were it, there’d be more me to go around
But, really
I don’t want me
I just give myself away
Piece by piece
Bit by bit
Until nothing’s left
That’s what I think is best

But even I do not know why
The answer is unknown to me
A rock on the cliff I cannot reach
A phantom I can’t see

I am
I am…
I am who I am?
There’s too much I hate
So much to change
Not enough to evaluate
Nothing to see
Not even my glasses give me the sight I need
My eyes just aren’t able to focus
But everyone else has great eyes
Eyes I can use to see me
If I let them like me
change me
evaluate me
see me
Then I can understand
They can tell me
Who
I
am

Now
With all of this in mind, I’m sure
That you can see
That you can tell me
What I need to hear
Make it nice and clear
I’ve waited more than long enough
for this point in time
This fortune of mine
Look into my eyes and show me the truth
Tell me what you see in me
Be my special little sleuth
The only one who can deduce
This mystery of my history
is YOU

Who
am
I?

 

Written in response to my poem, “Who Are You?”

 

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2 thoughts on “Who I Am

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