I am Poems

I Am Poems (Breathtaking Poems about Self Discovery)

You must be willing to talk about yourself and who you are in order to compose “I am” poems. You can use evocative words to describe who you are or to highlight your best qualities.

I am Poems

I Am Poems about Self Discovery

The poets in this collection is critical about the self and the role of relationship with loved ones.

Finding Myself (I Am Poems)

The search for truth keeps me
Trekking across uncharted lands
And diving under unventured seas
Where I find myself alone,
Without the comfort of familiarity.

I have walked out onto the plank too far
To not take the plunge –
Bound myself in the shackles of curiosity
And distanced myself from past experiences
And previous peers.
I was once a jolly pirate,
But am now the prisoner
They push overboard and feed to the sharks.

But I must listen to the call of my heart –
The call that won’t let me live content
Following worn paths walked by countless others,
Taking the road society says leads to success.
I wish it wasn’t so…
It would be much easier
If I could distract myself from meaning,
From searching for the answers to this string of thoughts
Unraveling in my mind, but I cannot.

I can’t look upon the forest
In the midst of spring,
Watch the birds rest atop
The branches at the break of dawn,
Or feel the wind breathe across my face
Without the taste of some eternal truth
Lingering on the tip of my tongue,
Reminding me of a magic I felt
During days when I was young,
Some glorious mystery that awakens
My taste buds and makes them yearn for more.

I am a seeker,
Seeking beauty, seeking truth.
And to deny myself the journey of self discovery
For the sake of comfort
Is a travesty of my heart
And of the one who created it.

It’s never easy to abandon the crowds,
Leave the pack,
And become a lone wolf,
But by keeping the status quo
You’ll never find the piece of yourself
You’ve been missing all your life –
The piece of you that you’ve been afraid to acknowledge,
The piece of you that connects you to your destiny,
The piece of your puzzle that fits perfectly into place
Forming a beautiful portrait,
And the piece of you that makes you come alive.

It’s time.
You’re ready.
Share the real you
With the world.

By, Justin Farley


Dear Clementine (I Am Poems)

A mere three poems you have posted
and I sense something like beauty
in your lines
Something exactly like beauty
A hint of pain,
but every indication of self-betterment
through self-reflection
and direct (non-)action
as you feel the edge
but do not press it through
which I hope you continue not to do
And although I have never
drawn my own blood
I find myself touching things
just to see how they feel;
my intent, to escape anything real

So I imagine you experience life
in a similar way
Small escapes whenever you can,
but questioning whether something’s
wrong with your head
And the agony of loss;
your cells certainly remain
And your mention of tampons
brings to mind for me
that my last love’s last remaining
evidence of our time
is a ****** wrapper that stayed
in my trash for months,
even survived a move
and now rests in a big bag
ready to go out.
Surely, you are still with him
somewhere in his life.

You are not disgusting,
of that I am sure
We all have our secrets
And those of us who hide them all
are the disgusting,
because you find them out
when it hurts the most

And as I bring this piece to a close,
I see you have revealed two more of your own,
further revealing your heart and its beauty,
as you give to a man who has a heart like my own

By, Anonymous


Peanut Butter Lye (I Am Poems)

The baby goat’s mother was shot.
And I was forced to listen to it cry.
Forever forlorn and distraught
And i stood there- hands covering ears
Traveling back in time

Your mothers heart stopped
And I was forced to listen to you cry.
Lost in a huge world, more alone
And i stood there- hands covering ears

I heard you through the vents
“My mom is dead! My mom is dead
Falling to the floor I wished I still dreamt
But she had called me before her bed

I heard her voice message months later
You still cried yourself to sleep at night
Sleeping with earplugs….I wish I didn’t bake
Because I thought I killed her that night

Peanut butter cookies:
She taught me the recipe.
And two days before she vanished,
I brought her a dozen.
Autopsy reports showed an hour before death;
She took two bites of my cookies-
Went upstairs and her heart stopped.

Coincidentally exactly four years later,
I finally made peanut butter cookies again
And the smell of sweet peanut butter roasting
Stopped my heart

By, Grace Pickard

If You ever Fall in Love with a Writer (I Am Poems)

If you ever fall in love with a writer,
Your days will be musical
The nights will have their own song
Not anymore will you look at things as regular-
The trees will seem to give you more than just shade,
The sunlight will trickle down on your skin
Bouncing off the window pane
The wind will do a waltz through your hair
Your eyes will carry the universe in them
All the things will not be the same again.

If you ever fall in love with a writer
I don’t promise that it will be easy
For, writers can be insane sometimes
What good is love if you don’t jump off sanity?
They are forgettful. Terribly so.
They will not remember anniversaries
Or to buy tickets for your favourite show
But, they will never forget how you smell after a bath,
The colour of your eyes,
Thoughts of you will never escape their mind.

Writers can be clumsy,
They will trip over their own shabby scattered notes,
Spill the ink onto a fresh piece of poem
But, the way their fingers will trace stories on your bare skin,
And how they will carefully settle
The baby hair on your forehead before kissing,
Will seem to you as their finest work.

If you ever fall in love with a writer,
They will never tell you how much
They love you back until,
Your absence makes it hard for them to breathe,
Makes you more of necessity.
They will, then, hold your hand,
Close their eyes
And cry like they have already lost you;
The tears will spread over their face
Like delicate words on paper,
With each one rolling down their cheek
Their clutch of you will grow tighter.
It is when they open their eyes,
Look at you as a miracle in disguise,
That each part of their soul will sing
To you their love
And the million “I love yous” you wrote to them
Will not be enough.

If you ever fall in love with a writer,
Kiss them in the stormy rain,
Drive them to a distant place
They have never been to,
And watch carefully their expressions change,
Build them sand castles
And let the tides wash it away,
Don’t buy them flowers
On Valentine’s day.

For every blown out candle,
every Mazel Tov,
every turn of the tassel,
you gift-wrap what a writer dreads most: blank pages.
It’s never a notebook we need.
If we have a story to tell,
an idea carbonating past the brim of us,
we will write it on our arms, thighs, any bare meadow of skin.
In the absence of pens,
we will repeat our lines deliriously like the telephone number
of a parting stranger
until we become the craziest one on the subway.

If you really love a writer,
find a gravestone of someone who shares their name and take them to it.
When her door is plastered with an eviction notice, do not offer your home.
Say I Love You, then call her the wrong name.
If you really love a writer,
bury them in all your awful and watch as they scrawl their way out.

If you sincerely love a writer,
They will carry you inside them
Till you are all they remain,
Hold you like the glint in their eyes
If a writer falls in love with you,
You can never die.

By, Cheryl Mukherji


I Am

I am from the mirror that gives me it reflection

I am from art,the beautiful figure emerge from me

Paint me as I am

I sing my self

I write my self

I am yet what I am

I am contemplative

I am a wonderful Lily planted and never wider

I am the architect who never run out of designs

I am happiness with a great smiles that are irresistible

I am me because I am involved

I am contagious

I am indisputable

Having a shadow of me glitters because I am me

I am in a scene where man has never trod

I am hidden under the vasness of the universe

I am yet what I am

By, Anonymous

Endships (I Am Poems)

The thought of you making time for others,

and not me, kills me because I was

your best friend and you are still mine but

somewhere along the way, that phone line got cut.

And maybe I missed the memo that the alarm on our friendship began beeping and you woke up

while I was still sleeping.

Or that the clock struck

midnight, leaving me sitting in the rotted remains of our childhood.

How is it possible that the added days of us

became so replaceable that you “Don’t understand how you made it through until you met, blank.”

I don’t see how this recurring trend became a thing,

as if recycling friends as if they didn’t

exist is okay and how

“I’ve been busy”

equates to making everything just fine. 

I would have settled for a text just know whether or not you would be the next in line with every other person

I had dared call “friend”.

How did we go from strangers

to sisters, to you not caring, and me just staring, waiting for you

to make a move, but knowing it would never come.

By, Liz Hill

If you looked deeper into yourself you would realized that you are more, poetry paints that canvas that expresses every emotion that triggers the truth about who you really are.

The pains, sorrows, joy, happiness and every mix of emotions that comes with life is the beauty of poems like the one in this collection. You should share our post to other people to access and enjoy the collection of poems that is made for everyone to savor.

Daily Time Poems.

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