“Unlike a drop of water which loses its identity when it joins the ocean, man does not lose his being in the society in which he lives. Man’s life is independent. He is born not for the development of the society alone, but for the development of his self.” – B. R. Ambedkar

“I’ve struggled with an identity sometimes; I don’t know what exactly I am. I love so many types of music, and I don’t want to commit to going down one road.” – Brandon Flowers

“One epitaph is sufficiently comprehensive for most persons:—Here lies A MORTAL. In that word is comprised a brief space of trivial joys, and trivial sorrows. The rest is a phantom.” – William Benton Clulow

“Kindred spirits are not so scarce as I used to think. It’s splendid to find out there are so many of them in the world.” – L.M. Montgomery

“Buried deep beneath the surface of his character, was a hidden, yet a restless ambition: but this was perhaps, at present, a secret even to himself. We know not our own characters till time teaches us self-knowledge.” – Edward George Earle Bulwer-Lytton

“It is only when we silent the blaring sounds of our daily existence that we can finally hear the whispers of truth that life reveals to us, as it stands knocking on the doorsteps of our hearts.” – K.T. Jong

Hello everyone and welcome to another exciting round of the segment On Popular Demand. Due to receiving the highest number of votes our topic for this week is ‘Identity.’ I once read a quotation by Robert Brault which stated; ‘Perhaps God gives us a physical body so that every time we change our mind, we won’t be someone else.’ It’s true isn’t it? How many times have we felt like wanting to be someone, anyone but our own true self? We must learn to appreciate our inner strength and beauty and love ourselves the way we are; cause that’s how God intended us to be. Tonight, I want each and every one of you to pen down your deepest feelings regarding the subject of Identity. Previously written work is more than welcome. For further inspiration please refer to the three wonderful poems below:

A character of it’s own

by Sylvan Lightbourne

A character of it’s own, earned to be earned,
earned to be learned, a bitter burden turned.
Catches me you called it, catches me you won’t,
avoid all the friendship, possibly a curse,
break bones softly, possibly a curse,
father me badly, came out emberse.
The further shall i sturdy, proves all to be a lurk,
fully of a foley.
Cross me again, difficultly you would show,
catching pride rumoured early.
I assume you are the greater afterdater,
rethink about days you were weak and incompetent
show non above.
Courage or no pride, or no tear through a stride,
what was meant was, during this abide of luck,
you took what was catapulted as a feeting roughed
and make it into something that was worth foolish without;
outlivers, outtrust and troused.
Too much talk of my character revealed,
hear this only prevention, that i shall not bleed,
the troubles that you looking for, would be held back and conceived.
I begin to undertake punishment and years of sorrow,
if tomorrow isn’t enough to borrow any troubles,
a character of it’s own, would be worthed to be worth.

A Dialogue Of Self And Soul

by William Butler Yeats

My Soul. I summon to the winding ancient stair;
Set all your mind upon the steep ascent,
Upon the broken, crumbling battlement,
Upon the breathless starlit air,
“Upon the star that marks the hidden pole;
Fix every wandering thought upon
That quarter where all thought is done:
Who can distinguish darkness from the soul

My Self. The consecretes blade upon my knees
Is Sato’s ancient blade, still as it was,
Still razor-keen, still like a looking-glass
Unspotted by the centuries;
That flowering, silken, old embroidery, torn
From some court-lady’s dress and round
The wodden scabbard bound and wound
Can, tattered, still protect, faded adorn

My Soul. Why should the imagination of a man
Long past his prime remember things that are
Emblematical of love and war?
Think of ancestral night that can,
If but imagination scorn the earth
And interllect is wandering
To this and that and t’other thing,
Deliver from the crime of death and birth.

My Self. Montashigi, third of his family, fashioned it
Five hundred years ago, about it lie
Flowers from I know not what embroidery –
Heart’s purple; and all these I set
For emblems of the day against the tower
Emblematical of the night,
And claim as by a soldier’s right
A charter to commit the crime once more.

My Soul. Such fullness in that quarter overflows
And falls into the basin of the mind
That man is stricken deaf and dumb and blind,
For intellect no longer knows
Is from the Ought, or knower from the Known;
That is to say, ascends to Heaven;
Only the dead can be forgiven;
But when I think of that my tongue’s a stone.

II

My Self. A living man is blind and drinks his drop.
What matter if the ditches are impure?
What matter if I live it all once more?
Endure that toil of growing up;
The ignominy of boyhood; the distress
Of boyhood changing into man;
The unfinished man and his pain
Brought face to face with his own clumsiness;

The finished man among his enemies? –
How in the name of Heaven can he escape
That defiling and disfigured shape
The mirror of malicious eyes
Casts upon his eyes until at last
He thinks that shape must be his shape?
And what’s the good of an escape
If honour find him in the wintry blast?

I am content to live it all again
And yet again, if it be life to pitch
Into the frog-spawn of a blind man’s ditch,
A blind man battering blind men;
Or into that most fecund ditch of all,
The folly that man does
Or must suffer, if he woos
A proud woman not kindred of his soul.

I am content to follow to its source
Every event in action or in thought;
Measure the lot; forgive myself the lot!
When such as I cast out remorse
So great a sweetness flows into the breast
We must laugh and we must sing,
We are blest by everything,
Everything we look upon is blest.

A Mix of Many Things

by by Alyssa Murray

I am a mix of many things, I can’t quite be defined
Not the same, specifically, as anyone you’ll find
It’s not that I am something special, in comparison to you,
Because you also are a mix of things that make up you

I simply see that most of me is made of certain things
That make me see the need to be upfront in what this brings
I acknowledge the mix of many things that culminate in me
the things I see and think and feel that make me be

I have my faults, my weaknesses, and insecurities
but my being also encompasses other things than these
I have strengths and talents, and some wisdom that is sound
and many of my experiences have been enlightening and profound

In everything that makes me be, it’s quite a hearty mix
there’s things I love about myself, and things I try to fix
Reflecting on uniqueness, I hand the mirror to you,
to celebrate the many things that make you unique too

I am a mix of many things, I can’t quite be defined
Not the same, specifically, as anyone you’ll find
It’s not that I am something special, in comparison to you,
Because you also are a mix of things that make up you

 

So pick up a pen and lets begin! As always the prompt will remain open the entire week so that everyone can write according to their own pace and time. Please click on the blue widget below. When it opens be sure to click on “add your link.” Now skip the blanks and proceed directly to “try here” written at the end in small font. It will direct you on how to link your poem. Please visit other Poets and do comment on their poems. Have fun ❤