Tag: identity
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Proud Inheritance: A Tapestry of Cultural Heritage
In this long poem, I reflect on the aspects of my cultural heritage that live within me—language, food, rituals, stories, resilience, craft, and family. Each memory is not just history but a living thread, reminding me of continuity, belonging, and pride in traditions that shape my present and extend into future generations.
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What Brands Do You Associate With?
An exploration of how brands intertwine with our memories, emotions, and identities—inviting deep introspection on what we truly choose to become beyond commerce.
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What’s Your Favorite Word?
You ask me a simple question—what’s your favorite word? But words carry centuries, memories, and emotions hidden beneath their surface. This poem unfolds the delicate layers of language, weaving between personal memories and universal longing, building to a quiet climax where listening becomes the truest bond.
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The Archaeology of Self: Excavating the Self #poetry
Who am I? The question echoes in forgotten chambers, and we dig through layers of conditioning, through the fossil remains of abandoned dreams, searching not for an answer, but for the thread that binds us to everything that is.
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The Geography of Lost #poetry
Lost is not a place on any map; it is the space between who we were and who we’re becoming—a liminal landscape where familiar landmarks dissolve and new ones haven’t yet formed. Here, in this geography of uncertainty, we confront questions with no easy answers and find courage in the unknown.
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The Immense Weight of Small
She was not broken. She was not waiting. She was not lost. She was small, and in that smallness, magnificent.
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What Is Your Favorite Genre of Music?
You ask me this question like it’s simple, like the heart has drawers labeled jazz, rock, classical, like the soul keeps neat little categories for the sounds that make us human. But I tell you—music doesn’t live in genres, it lives in the space between your ribs when that first note hits…
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The Eternal Outfit
If I were condemned to singular cloth, sentenced to the same weave day after day, until the threads memorized my skin and my skin learned the language of cotton—I would choose denim. Not the pristine, factory-fresh blue that screams newness from store shelves, but the kind that whispers stories, that carries the archaeology of ten…

