Liza Rosenberg

I am…

I am…
A mother
Gently pressing lips
Against a little boy’s cheek
As he dreams

I am…
Shy
The quietest person
In a room full of friends
And yet

I am…
Helpful
Because I want to be liked
And not left out
As I used to be

I am…
Apologetic
Fearful of losing
People I love
During stupid arguments

I am…
Funny
According to my parents
And they’re not biased
Are they?

I am…
Sensitive
And easily hurt
But keep it inside
Because it is simpler

I am…
Talented
But afraid to discover
How far I can go
And in which directions

I am…
Overwhelmed
By too many compliments
And often find them
Hard to accept

I am…
Guilty
Of thinking too much
Of dwelling too much
Of caring too much

I am…
Strong
Because I have to be
But sometimes
I shatter

I am…
Broken
Haunted by secrets
Trapped inside
The little girl I used to be

I am…
A loner
By choice
Derived from a childhood
When it was not

I am…
A fortress
Shielding vulnerabilities
Behind thick walls
Very few can penetrate

I am…
A survivor
Choosing life
Instead of not living
Which is not the same as death

I am…
Confused
About my path
And wonder
About my future

I am…
Pulled
Between two worlds
Never feeling complete
In either one

I am…
A lover
Of beauty
Conjured up by artists
And wordsmiths

I am…
A dreamer
Getting lost
In sunsets
And nature

I am…
At peace
When I wander
In solitude
Across the desert

I am…
Amazing
Or so they tell me
Though deep down
I can’t believe it

I am…
Me