Iqulah who am I texts
Who am I?
January 10, 2017, third lesson, German
We should write a poem. Subject: Who am I? Hot. Come on fuck it, what do I know ?! I already know it. Then you write something really seriously and what does the teacher say: "Hannah let go, come on." And then? Yeah, then you have your shit on this sheet of paper. No, I didn't want to take the risk, so the sheet was left blank. Although I wanted to write so much, wanted to write so much of my soul, wanted to let go for once. But I have no regrets. I didn't want to take that risk at all. D rather not. Too private. Too shit. Too sick. To anything. "Come on, you can read aloud.", Niklas, the person sitting next to me pointed to my paper and whispered this sentence to me. Of course, his fucking grin on his face. Irony. Not meant badly, I don't take it badly from him either. We get on well, he knows. Yes he knows. How long have I known this guy now? Three months? Or less? I dont know. But at that moment he certainly wasn't aware of it. Lukas, a good friend, reads aloud. He had written an elf:
I am too uncreative
Or something, I don't know. Not bad. Laughter. I am still thinking, thinking of everything that I would like to write and that Niklas, Lukas, Nico and Leonie would just show. How so? No idea. We're friends. At least Lukas, Nico, Leonie and me. I'm not so sure about Niklas yet. Anyway, I'll try to write it here. But without rhymes, it's getting too much for me today. In class we heard Mark Forster's "Selfie". This is what inspires me right now:
Who am I? Good question.
Good question damn it
I'm a teenager
How am I?
Who am I?
But who is Hannah?
Damn it, I don't know
Damn it, fuck it.
I don't want to burden anyone
But fuck it
I cannot be silent
Just don't shut up.
I'm gone again and again
Am i not me
Am i me
Am I someone else
But somehow not either.
Damn it, I don't know.
And I hate this emptiness
That damn emptiness inside of me.
Oh fuck it
My life is great.
Roof over your head
Enough to eat
Yes, I am physically healthy
But sick in the head
Still the same madness for five years
The same shit
The same fuck
The same emptiness
The same darkness
The same fear
Cut by cut
I didn't want that anymore
But the shit eats me up.
I have no identity and two or three
Right in the middle of it all
And get out
At the beginning
At the end
In the middle
Somewhere in nowhere
Between broken glass and flowers
Happiness and depression
Cuts and healing,
love and hate
Friendship and acquaintance
Trust in everyone and distrust
Between shit and piss
And right in the middle
Or in the middle
Or on the edge
This is me.
Don't worry, neither do I.
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