The Real Me

Sometimes, while Niya naps and the minutes drift by I find my mind reflecting on the past. I retrace my steps, wonder at the small things that do not matter, like the job I quit a while back, the books I should have written… At times like this when the world is quiet and all I hear is the whir of the fan and Niya breathing, I remind myself of the real me, how I am right where I’m supposed to be.

A few days ago, for some reason I cannot remember, I decided to open a collection of poems I wrote when I was 14. There on the title page was the carefully crafted word “Poetry”, with flowers and butterflies scribbled along the corners of the page. At the bottom, Maya, one of my closest friends in high school, had drawn a delicate hand grasping a pen.

In the collection were poems about my many crushes, nature, depression, friendship, faith… One of them stood out to me. (I’ve resisted the urge to edit it so bare with me.)

The Real Me

It is so upsetting to be told SIMULTANEOUSLY!

You’re an angel,

Yet a freak.

Quiet but outspoken

kind yet mean

gorgeous yet ugly


Everyone seems to have a totally different

Concept of who I am and will be.

Each holding the same mirror

Yet beholding a different me.


Am I so profound, so unique

That no one can see the true me?

I am like an evolved being it seems

That must be why no one truly understands me.


Why can’t they see me as I see myself?

A slightly troubled child in need of help


Relishing in sin I do not do

But I’m no angel sent to rescue you.


I’m no freak either

I’m just unique


I’m quiet at times

Outspoken when needs be

I’m kind not mean

and as gorgeous as can be


Radiantly my inner beauty

Shines outwardly,


This is how I see myself



I can’t help smiling when I read that poem and think of the years that have gone by since. I am grateful for every moment, experience and individual that has shaped who I am today.

I am grateful for who I am becoming and all the struggles that will get me there.







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