I Am You- Poem

Published on January 9, 2007 in Borderline Personality Disorder, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Mental Health, PTSD and Poetry. 5 Comments

Hold on
Hold onto me tightly
Hold your breath, the next is worth waiting for

Look at me
Look at the scar on my face but remember the lips that turn upwards
Kiss me, the love of self is worth it.

I have every imaginable flaw
Every imaginable quark and failure
And hit every stumbling block ten times over
But I’ve also climbed mountains
Mountains higher than the best and strongest scope can see.
I’ve walked miles in bare feet and taken steps others could only dream of
I’ve breathed thin hopeless air
Air so thin the beasts of high rocky homes would descend for their own ease.
But not me, I kept climbing.

Follow me
Follow the beat of my heart
Follow the strength you’ve shown from birth until now and
Never forget
Remember me, remember you.

This is me, I am you
In every possible way
So hold me
Love me
The good, the bad, the ugly.

Austin

I Am You
Monday, January 08, 2007

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5 Responses to “I Am You- Poem”

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keepers
January 9, 2007 at 8:32 am

your poem is awesome! thank you for sharing it with us. we hope Gracie is just fine and back home in no time and all will be well for all of you!

keepers
hatgirl
January 9, 2007 at 3:43 pm

Gracie will be all taken care of and back home before you know it!
hatgirl
January 9, 2007 at 3:51 pm

I LOVE this poem! It is so heartfelt.
marj aka thriver
February 15, 2008 at 3:44 pm

This is awesome! Thanks so much for letting me include it in the Feb. BLOG CARNIVAL AGAINST CHILD ABUSE. Sharing your amazing poetry is a very good thing!
cerebralmum
February 16, 2008 at 4:50 am

This is wonderful, Austin. I especially love all the images of you strength and what you’ve climbed through. It is a proud and honest and inspiring poem. Thank you.

THIS & THAT

“He must have an artist’s eye for colour and form who can arrange a hundred flowers as tastefully, in any other way, as by strolling through a garden, and picking here one and there one, and adding them to the bouquet in the accidental order in which they chance to come. Thus we see every summer day the fair lady coming in from the breezy side hill with gorgeous colours and most witching effects. If only she could be changed to alabaster, was ever a finer show of flowers in so fine a vase? But instead of allowing the flowers to remain as they were gathered, they are laid upon the table, divided, rearranged on some principle of taste, I know not what, but never again have that charming naturalness and grace which they first had.”
- Henry Ward Beecher

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