Finding Me Poem by Lady N

Finding Me



As I paint myself a picture, with a blade across my arm,
I wonder what it is I'm doing, why I'm causing myself such harm,
This is not who I really am, this is not the actual me,
This is instead a false impression, who I'm forcing myself to be,
I use the blade as my paint brush, and paint the story of my life,
Taking away my hurt, with the sharpness of this metallic knife,
A panting that's so empty, crocket lines painted black and red,
Silver blade penetrates my skin, hitting a green vein which puts me to bed,
Now I'm resting in my coffin, now I lay me down to die,
Because I died before I woke, I burn and hell and desperately cry,
While blood seeps out of my wounds, I wonder why it is I do this,
Trying to define myself, because if I don't then tell me, who is?
Who is going to show me, who I'm forcing myself to be?
And help me through the struggles, while in search of finding me,

Thursday, February 9, 2012
Topic(s) of this poem: self discovery
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Lady N

Lady N

Chicago, Illinois
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