not knowing who you are and something that everyone searches to find. Something that you may never find and maybe not something that you want to find. Something that you are always always looking for. Something that when you have an idea of what it is, you either like it or you don’t. Ongoing mystery.
My identity can mean so many different things at different times. At times I identify as an artist, at others, a friend or a shoulder to cry on. My identity changes every day and with whatever situation I happen to find myself in. So what is my identity, really? If I change to fit the situation I’m in, who am I at my core? Can I ever really know?
Man, identity. I think that in today’s world, it is easy for one to lose their sense of identity. Things move too fast, and people don’t have time to think about what they are doing, or how they feel. If you don’t know what you are doing, or how you feel, all you have is your actions, but people are more than the sum of their actions.
WE all wonder about this at some point or another… who am I? That’s the easy way to ask it. More importantly though, what is I? What makes any of us us. Maybe if we understood that we would understand ourselves, since there can be no I without the concept of identity itself.
My identity is lost, no one has stole it. no one would ever try. Why would they. I am dead. I breath yet my life is not really mine. I have no idenity that is worth anything.
Identity is what you make it. Identity is just a word. Identity is the clothes you wear and the words you say and the friends you make. Identity is your actions and the reactions, the interactions, the reflection in the mirror.
It’s your own thing. You’re your own person. You’re not just a shadow, a copy, a blonde clone of the one made of light. You have your own personality, your own wants and needs and if not heart then mind. It’s okay, it is, because you’re you and that’s all that matters. So stay here, don’t leave me, I’ll make you more you than he ever will.
I’m laughing. I’ve been struggling with this concept to the point of weariness, and I am no closer to deciding what my stance on the subject is now than I was when the wrestle began.
Married for fourteen years, but I lost my identity the minute he put the ring on my finger. Instead of drowning, I’ve simply learned to breathe less, to require less oxygen.
My identity is a secret. I only zip into it when the sun hides behind its mask of horizon. Incognito, I strut through the dark world of thieves, jugglers, waitresses, nightwatchmen, bouncers, sneaks, taxi drivers, astronomers, and Mr. Leo who runs the 24-hour Stop N’ Go and watches his counter like the Sphinx does the desert. I am a hero; I save them all just for you.
Identity is something I lost recently after looking in a mirror. With there being two of me, my identity was stolen I felt, or temporarily mislaid at least. I then opened the mirror door, which leads into the drug cabinet behind it. There I found my medication, quickly swallowed two tablets, and my single identity was resumed. Phew.
she had lost it. a long time ago. her identity along with her possessions. lost in the ruins of a house. in the bombed out streets of a city. the name long lost in her memories. what she was today, she hadn’t been then.
identity is the basic need of a human being… most of the things we do throughout our life is either to get or to make or to enhance our identity. identity makes a man and a man makes his own identity.
what is identity? is it how you define yourself? how how others define you? will you ever know who you truly are? can we know how we are, if we don’t know the true meaning of life?
will we ever know the true meaning of life?
do people just know us from what we tell them? or do they read deeper?
She sat there in her shredded tshirt and panties, cheeks tear soaked, wondering how it had gotten to this point, how she had led everyone in her life to belief she was someone she was not. She looked down at the ring on her left finger and wondered who she really was.
Her identity was hidden from the world, the world that had shunned so. They didn’t deserve her respect, and she deserved her dignity. She’d never let them see. She hated them.
He was always getting asked about his identity. There were so many terms you heard–cultural identity, religious identity, sexual identity. Sometimes he wondered there was just a ‘me’ identity.
is not definite. it does not exist. we live a life attempting to discover an identity that does not even define who we truly are. we try to define what is when what is really isn’t. my identity is what i am, who i was, and who i will be.
Identity…
If no one told you what an identity was wouldn’t we be better off. We wouldn’t debate it or question it. We are who we are. And we are what we choose to do.
Is something everybody has. It is often stolen for fraudulent reasons. It is something that is not tangible. One can often have more than one identity whether it be
she looked in the mirror. The person looking back resembled herself, but somehow didn’t seem quite right. The shape of the face, the wrinkles around the eyes and the mouth, it all added up to the person she knew, but the equation seemed all wrong.
She lied again about who she was. It was so much easier than trying to explain herself again- and how she got there. And it doesn’t matter if someone doesn’t like you when you’re someone else. Sometimes they’d catch her, though- they asked her a why and she didn’t care about defending it.
“Low Hebrides, 965 and filling, losing its identity”. Would he get the boat back to harbour in Portree in time? The school play began in an hour and he couldn’t possibly miss it. The shipping forecast brought little succour; if he wasn’t there Morag would never forgive him.
You are who you are. That is what they say. No need to fear if you are innocent. But in this world of data overload. You will be able to hold his identity sacrosanct.
He had always thought he had one. His identity was after all what made him who he was. Now he had been informed that he was the victime of Identity Theft. He felt the same, he was sure he looked the same, yet someone had stolen him.
You are who you are. That is what they say. No need to fear if you are innocent. But in this world of data overload. You will be able to hold his identity sacrosanct.
You are who you are. That is what they say. No need to fear if you are innocent. But in this world of data overload. You will be able to hold his identity sacrosanct.
There is no identity that Patrick can find. No being behind the eyes. The eyes boring holes in his neck. But the feeling was so familiar that if it were gone the holes above his shoulders would feel like abandoned mines.
So he did not merely endure he embraced the felling of the constant spy.
not knowing who you are and something that everyone searches to find. Something that you may never find and maybe not something that you want to find. Something that you are always always looking for. Something that when you have an idea of what it is, you either like it or you don’t. Ongoing mystery.
My identity can mean so many different things at different times. At times I identify as an artist, at others, a friend or a shoulder to cry on. My identity changes every day and with whatever situation I happen to find myself in. So what is my identity, really? If I change to fit the situation I’m in, who am I at my core? Can I ever really know?
Man, identity. I think that in today’s world, it is easy for one to lose their sense of identity. Things move too fast, and people don’t have time to think about what they are doing, or how they feel. If you don’t know what you are doing, or how you feel, all you have is your actions, but people are more than the sum of their actions.
WE all wonder about this at some point or another… who am I? That’s the easy way to ask it. More importantly though, what is I? What makes any of us us. Maybe if we understood that we would understand ourselves, since there can be no I without the concept of identity itself.
My identity is lost, no one has stole it. no one would ever try. Why would they. I am dead. I breath yet my life is not really mine. I have no idenity that is worth anything.
Identity is what you make it. Identity is just a word. Identity is the clothes you wear and the words you say and the friends you make. Identity is your actions and the reactions, the interactions, the reflection in the mirror.
Identity is not you. You are.
It’s your own thing. You’re your own person. You’re not just a shadow, a copy, a blonde clone of the one made of light. You have your own personality, your own wants and needs and if not heart then mind. It’s okay, it is, because you’re you and that’s all that matters. So stay here, don’t leave me, I’ll make you more you than he ever will.
Trust me.
I’m laughing. I’ve been struggling with this concept to the point of weariness, and I am no closer to deciding what my stance on the subject is now than I was when the wrestle began.
I am…
But what does it really matter?
Identity can be defined as two things:
That which makes us human,
or
that which we adopt to feel human.
Take your pick.
Married for fourteen years, but I lost my identity the minute he put the ring on my finger. Instead of drowning, I’ve simply learned to breathe less, to require less oxygen.
It was just a case of mistaken identity, easily overlooked. But justs change lives, and that time wasn’t any different.
My identity is a secret. I only zip into it when the sun hides behind its mask of horizon. Incognito, I strut through the dark world of thieves, jugglers, waitresses, nightwatchmen, bouncers, sneaks, taxi drivers, astronomers, and Mr. Leo who runs the 24-hour Stop N’ Go and watches his counter like the Sphinx does the desert. I am a hero; I save them all just for you.
Identity is something I lost recently after looking in a mirror. With there being two of me, my identity was stolen I felt, or temporarily mislaid at least. I then opened the mirror door, which leads into the drug cabinet behind it. There I found my medication, quickly swallowed two tablets, and my single identity was resumed. Phew.
she had lost it. a long time ago. her identity along with her possessions. lost in the ruins of a house. in the bombed out streets of a city. the name long lost in her memories. what she was today, she hadn’t been then.
identity is the basic need of a human being… most of the things we do throughout our life is either to get or to make or to enhance our identity. identity makes a man and a man makes his own identity.
what is identity? is it how you define yourself? how how others define you? will you ever know who you truly are? can we know how we are, if we don’t know the true meaning of life?
will we ever know the true meaning of life?
do people just know us from what we tell them? or do they read deeper?
She sat there in her shredded tshirt and panties, cheeks tear soaked, wondering how it had gotten to this point, how she had led everyone in her life to belief she was someone she was not. She looked down at the ring on her left finger and wondered who she really was.
I know who I am, but the issue is I can’t figure out a way to tell you who that person is.
my indentity is the clown i am hidden, i dont know what i am or what im doing, i have a plan but i dont know what it is!
Her identity was hidden from the world, the world that had shunned so. They didn’t deserve her respect, and she deserved her dignity. She’d never let them see. She hated them.
Tenebro turned form his conversation and waited to see what the opposing team supposed was the identity of their target. They might guess correctly.
He was always getting asked about his identity. There were so many terms you heard–cultural identity, religious identity, sexual identity. Sometimes he wondered there was just a ‘me’ identity.
is not definite. it does not exist. we live a life attempting to discover an identity that does not even define who we truly are. we try to define what is when what is really isn’t. my identity is what i am, who i was, and who i will be.
i am,
though i’m not
& nor
will i ever be;
though potentially
i can be everything,
my i
is nothing-
not until
you & i
can be
you & i.
Identity…
If no one told you what an identity was wouldn’t we be better off. We wouldn’t debate it or question it. We are who we are. And we are what we choose to do.
Is something everybody has. It is often stolen for fraudulent reasons. It is something that is not tangible. One can often have more than one identity whether it be
she looked in the mirror. The person looking back resembled herself, but somehow didn’t seem quite right. The shape of the face, the wrinkles around the eyes and the mouth, it all added up to the person she knew, but the equation seemed all wrong.
She lied again about who she was. It was so much easier than trying to explain herself again- and how she got there. And it doesn’t matter if someone doesn’t like you when you’re someone else. Sometimes they’d catch her, though- they asked her a why and she didn’t care about defending it.
“Low Hebrides, 965 and filling, losing its identity”. Would he get the boat back to harbour in Portree in time? The school play began in an hour and he couldn’t possibly miss it. The shipping forecast brought little succour; if he wasn’t there Morag would never forgive him.
without you
who am i
i used to know and be so sure of everything i was, but in an instant you ripped perception from my hands.
and you dont even know.
you dont even know or comprehend how much you meant to me and that in such little time you could consume my identity.
i love you.
come back.
You are who you are. That is what they say. No need to fear if you are innocent. But in this world of data overload. You will be able to hold his identity sacrosanct.
He had always thought he had one. His identity was after all what made him who he was. Now he had been informed that he was the victime of Identity Theft. He felt the same, he was sure he looked the same, yet someone had stolen him.
You are who you are. That is what they say. No need to fear if you are innocent. But in this world of data overload. You will be able to hold his identity sacrosanct.
my identity is as a hard working bigtime yupiee from ukraine, hopefully i wont get that flu though :)
me
my own
white
blank
lost
hidden
You are who you are. That is what they say. No need to fear if you are innocent. But in this world of data overload. You will be able to hold his identity sacrosanct.
me
my own
white
blank
lost
hidden
forgotten
card…reminds me of a writing exercise oh I see the cursor
who I am, what makes me me, a summation of the many aspects of my physical, mental and genetic makeup. Shifting and fluid, yet
There is no identity that Patrick can find. No being behind the eyes. The eyes boring holes in his neck. But the feeling was so familiar that if it were gone the holes above his shoulders would feel like abandoned mines.
So he did not merely endure he embraced the felling of the constant spy.