This week, Virginia Woolf inspired me through her experimental take on modernist literature. She argued the being insides consciousness as she personifies it to take up the definition of a person. So I’ve decided to write my own poem, a sum up of the way I understand the conscious being inside.
Layers upon layers cover us all,
with skin that is faded, bright or dull.
Constantly overlooked these depictions stay,
but the life within limits one’s way.
There is a truth beneath all surfaces;
Neither introvert nor extrovert.
The beauty inside shines,
as insecurities emerge.
We were always taught as kids,
to live with confidence, not cockiness.
But even the greatest inner voices,
are fearful of that they have no other choice.