Identity - Original Poem

What is an identity? Is it what I am, or what others see of me? Do I truly get to define what I want to be Or am I born marked by a man’s theory? I walk the streets, a mantle on my shoulder A mask on my face, my heart no colder Shoes tied, how different from a body that does molder? While my own may not change, my soul yet grows older. Stories of the Ages, Tomes of Old Books full of pages of beings once bold Taught to play fearless, yet forced to fold Our great champions the most heated to scold What is an identity? Is it what am, or what others see of me? There’s always more fish out in the blue sea Yet the nets quickly inform us we are not truly free. A pat on the back, a laurel after a test Long since forgotten, replaced by barbed jest The praise once desired, adulation for your best Now empty and hollow, should it deign to eke from a chest. That which protects us, also pulls us back in Like the shepherd’s crook, urging us back to our pen Quick to label the unknown and the new as a sin Turning blind and deaf ear to any innovation. What is an identity? Is it what I am, or what others see of me? A piece of art, illuminated in a gallery The lights meant to blind us so we cannot truly see.