At Least I’m True To Myself

A poem

Photo by Diego PH on Unsplash

You can mold my edges, smooth them away,
Try to rewrite my thoughts, make me obey.
You can shift my course, steer me aside,
But my soul’s compass refuses to hide.

You can paint me in colors that aren’t my own,
Build a world where I feel alone.
Tell me I’m wrong, that I should conform,
But I am the eye in my quiet storm.

You say I’m too much, or maybe not enough,
That life is hard, I should grow tough.
But even when shadows weigh me down,
I wear my truth like a crown.

You can label, criticize, reshape who I am,
Tell me to change, to fit your plan.
But beneath your words, beneath your demands,
I am rooted, steadfast, where I stand.

At least I’m true, I can look in my eyes,
And know I’ve not dressed my soul in lies.
You may not see me, not as I appear,
But I hold my truth, crystal clear.

Change me, twist me, however you please,
But I am the wind, I am the trees.
I’ll bend, but never fully break,
For my truth is a fire you cannot take.

At least I’m me, unpolished, raw,
Not bound by your rules, nor your law.
At least I stand, unshaken, free —
At least I’m true to who I’m meant to be.