For the past two weeks, I haven’t stopped thinking about poetry.
I had never really tried writing poems before, and yet lately, I’ve felt strangely inspired.
I’ve been reading the work of so many talented writers here on Substack, and their words truly moved me. Thank you to all of you for that.
So today’s post is a poem from my personal collection.
I hesitated for a long time before sharing it, since I usually write essays.
But then I remembered why I started publishing here in the first place: the freedom to be oneself.
That freedom belongs to you as much as it does to me.
So today, I let myself share a poem. One born from the quiet traps of identity.
I hope it resonates with you. And if it does, I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments. 🌙
This poem speaks to that invisible weight we all carry... the struggle to exist fully, to be seen, to be free.
Feather Weight, Heart of Lead
Oh sorrow that wears joy as disguise,
Sorrow that haunts me in passion’s rise.
Like an octopus drowning in its own hue,
They force this laugh — heavy as a body too.
My voice chokes beneath the noise of the living,
A bud lost in fields unforgiving.
My gaze shatters against the lines of sky,
Like a soul thrown deep where light won’t pry.
Am I not human, just like them all?
Am I less than stars, than night’s vast sprawl?
Don’t I burn, don’t I bleed, don’t I dream?
Isn’t my heart a star — pure, unseen?
My faithful tormentor: invisibility.
They see me, but never truly see.
Less than my coats, less than my names,
Less than echoes in their domestic games.
So I shout. I shake off my skin,
Like a child begging life to begin.
I tear the air, I shatter the scene,
Unfiltered, relentless — I demand to be seen.
Indifference holds them in its loyal snare,
Blind to their own reflected glare.
Tolerance fades — disconnection thrives,
Prejudice, division — their proudest prize.
Weary but willing, I rise from the shore,
Freed from rage, from silence, from war.
Fueled by the flame, the will to be.
To live, to rise, to break, to be free.
Their creations still mark my skin,
But they no longer cage me from within.
Who cares for their gaze, their validation?
I live, I scream, I fall — and rise… for liberation.
Thank you for reading.
Feel free to share your thoughts in the comments. I’d love to know what this poem brought up for you.
This piece marks the end of the chapter “The Traps of Identity.”
The full chapter will soon be gathered into a PDF available on Gumroad, so you can read it as one complete reflection and experience the full vision behind it.
Next week begins a new cycle:
PART III – TOWARD A LIVING AND CONSCIOUS IDENTITY.
Don’t miss it.
See you soon !
May your week be filled with blessings, light, and quiet joy.
Thank you for sharing
I have felt like this much of my life.
I was particularly shaken by these lines,
"My faithful tormentor: invisibility.
They see me, but never truly see."
You have a genuine striking way with words.