Poem: I Know Not What I Am, But I Know What I Am Not | Poetry | Hudson Valley | Chronogram Magazine

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Poem: I Know Not What I Am, But I Know What I Am Not


I’m not the water stained white washed wall or the dark spots in cheap carpet.
I’m not the boogieman or the tapping on closet doors.
I’m not the baggy shirts or the budding of soft places that make me squeamish.
I’m not the pale scar below my hairline or the clammy palms.
I’m not the splurging or the purging.
I’m not the peanut butter filled plastic bag the little boy said my arms felt like in grade school.
I’m not the talked at, the neglected, the misrepresented, the taken for granted,
the reprimanded or the heavy handed.
I’m not the quick wit or the stumbling of words or the knowing the right thing to do.
I’m not the absence of a sister, of virtue, the glint in poppy’s eye
I’m not the silent treatments or the cold shoulders or disappointed.
I’m not the wondering where I went wrong or the silent car rides or the saying of goodbyes.
I’m not the debating or the praying or the chasing or the erasing of your memory.
I’m not the numbing or the too trusting.
I’m not the makeup or making it up. I’m not that kind of girl.
I’m not the only one. I’m not the “sorry” for what I’m not.

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