I would like to start this blog post with some dedications. I’m dedicating this piece that I have penned to everyone who’s reading it right now and to everyone who has answered my question when I’ve asked them,
“What makes you… ‘you’ ?”
This poem is not just mine, but ours, including yours. It is of everyone whose answers I’ve put in and everyone whose answers I couldn’t.
A very big and special thanks to the following blogger friends of mine :
1. Shruti Ohri from
2. Riddhima Penner from
3. Winnie from
4. Isabella Suarez from
These friends of mine have answered my question and I’ve included their wonderful answers. They’re all really talented so make sure you check out their blogs! =)
Apart from these lovely people, the answers of many other friends’ of mine are included, so a huge shout-out and big thanks to them too! :)
It has been long. So awfully long that I don’t know how to apologize, but here it is ;
I’m sO SORRY FOR VANISHING FROM THE FACE OF EARTH. I was stuck in between school work and personal problems, so I had no time to update. :’)
But even then, bit by bit, piece by piece, I was working on one piece and it’s finally complete! Yay! =)
Unlike my last piece, Nimbostratus |12 metres & 17 metres per second, this piece wasn’t spontaneous and I definitely didn’t write it in one go. While Nimbostratus |12 metres & 17 metres per second was a personal piece, this one isn’t just for me.
I’ve been thinking about who I am lately, and in the quest to find the answer to this question, I ended up writing ; I am.
I have written this through my happy times and through my sorrows, through pain and through ease, through confusion and through loneliness. Writing this has been a journey in itself and I enjoyed it thouroughly.
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But when I stared at the completed draft and proofread it one last time, it suddenly felt… empty. Something about it struck to me as tasteless and bland, my answer felt incomplete, and I realized then that my answer couldn’t just be my own.
I asked my closest friends and family members, “What makes you… you?” and incorporated their answers in the purest way I could to summarize my poem, and only then did my piece felt complete, because I realized that I wasn’t just myself afterall.
“I Am” talks about the beautiful complexity of human nature and the sheer vividness of how we are all different and unique. How we can never truly be summed up in any language of any sorts.
Okie, enough prologue to my poem I guess, please read, enjoy and tell me what you think! Also, tell me ;
“What makes you… you?”
I am not where I live.
I am not what I see.
I am what I believe in,
I am what I want to be.
I am not just the me that I hide,
But also the me that you see.
No, just because I present myself in a certain way,
Doesn’t mean it’s not a part of me.
Yes I sin, because I breathe.
Yes I deceive, because I breathe.
Yes, I make mistakes and yes, at times I’m fake.
Yes, I lose and I win, I bleed out and then begin.
I am the blood in my veins, not just my blood-type.
I’m the thoughts in my brain, not just my birthrights.
I’m all the past that I have and the future that I hope to.
I am all my happiness and pain.
My existence can’t be summed up,
By a few digits on the sheet.
Neither my grades, my marks and my ranks,
Nor my designation, my salary and my degrees completely define me.
There is more to me, than the numbers you see.
More to me than the alphabets that name me.
More to me than just my weakness and strength.
More to me than all that I pretend.
I’m the smile lines beneath my eyes,
And the silently speaking scars on my shins.
I’m the half-moons on my nails, the freckles on my collarbone.
I’m all the personas I am with you and all the naked tears when I’m alone.
I’m all the skin shades except the one your judging eyes perceive me to be.
Yes, my melanin gradients are a part of me, but not the way you perceive.
I’m no caste, religion or race.
I am not just my features or my face.
I’m no colour, ethnicity or language.
I am not the sole representative of my generation,
Neither of my sex, my class or age.
I am not just the music that I hear,
But the lyrics that speak to me.
I am not just the scenery that I paint,
But the colour pallete that I use,
Not just the finished canvas,
But also the inspiration and my tools.
I am not just the melodies I hum,
But the songs that I sing in my sleep.
I am not just my dreams,
But my nightmares too.
I’m not just the confidence and self-esteem you see,
But also my fears, my traumas and my anxiety.
I am, often in indescribable pain,
Hiding behind crooked smiles and anonymous names.
I am all that hurts me,
As well as all the medicine that I need.
I am what I pay attention to,
I am what I observe, what I notice.
I am only my own words,
Not yours, neither hers nor his.
I am the innocent kid that I was,
The intelligent youth that I am,
And the independent adult that I’ll be.
I am all the potential to bring change,
And all the wars I’ve seen.
I’m vivid, vulnerable and varied,
Often elementary, empty and at ease.
I am not bound to definite cosmic dimensions,
Neither are my thoughts rigid and rough.
I am the cause and the consequence.
My reality is not achiral but amorphous.
I am my compassion,
And my inability to lie.
I am my reserved demeanour and,
My ability to connect with people even though I’m shy.
I have valour and ambition,
I have dimensions and dynamics.
My thinking has no fixed boundaries
And I see the world differently,
That is what makes me unique.
I go out of my way
To achieve something better everyday.
I don’t settle for less,
But aim to achieve big.
Creativity is my weapon, for I am an artist.
Yet, sometimes I’m simple,
Purely caring and emotional.
I am my honesty and my determination.
My hard work and my kiddish nature.
I am a perpetual dreamer,
lost in my own fantasies.
I am my thoughts and my ability to use words to express,
My independent nature and to live in the present and enjoy myself.
I strive to know everything around me,
Constantly trying to understand the people that surround me.
I am my memories and my consciousness.
I am an imperfect fairytale and an aesthetic mess.
I’m not the same person as I was before,
I’ve found answers I was looking for.
In these answers I’ve found myself,
Penning down my thoughts fulfills me.
I’m now in touch with my inner self,
Owing to the art of writing.
My outlook on life is different,
In every possible way I want it to be.
I love goofing around and living life ; vivid and sound.
At times I’m called crazy.
My optimistim gets me through,
All the happiness and gloom.
Often I realize, I don’t know me the way I want.
Every minute every moment, I’m learning new things,
About me and myself,
About the people I’ve loved and left.
Because I am the people that surround me,
And the ones that I support.
I am my history, my memories,
My dreams and my growth.
I am the ones that love me,
And the ones that I love.
I am a blend of the things I am to you,
And the things I am to me.
A complex concoction of my consciences,
Undecipherable and ever-changing.
I am too much to put in words,
Or to express in emotions.
And each morning
As the bright rays scatter across my face,
As I bask in the warmth of life,
Waiting for the day ahead and embrace,
I realize ;
I am not just a me,
I am a we.
-Megha Bhartiya, InkSoakedSoul 💜
©️Megha Bhartiya, Inksoakedsoul.wordpress.com
~Epilogue ( Lol )
Firstly, for those who took the time to actually read it all… THANK YOU SO MUCH!
(. ❛ ᴗ ❛.)
Soooo…. How was it? Did you like it? Could you relate? And to my friends, could you identify your answers? =)
Tell me your thoughts below. I’d love to hear your interpretation and your views of it!
Keep smiling, stay healthy and happy!
Happy Blogging everyone! =)
PS. Photo Credits to me! Hehe. ~