Self-Portrait

by John Herlihy

Nearly impossible to draw how we feel,

In a life forever changing in a movie reel.

In highlighting typical traits, we others forfeit,

Let me attempt to sketch a self-portrait.

Sometimes I feel like a pencil sketch,

Fine lines drawn on an ever-changing face,

Only to disappear without leaving a trace.

Sometimes I feel like a watercolor,

A wistful collage of multiple hews,

Full of emotion in reds, greens, blues.

Sometimes I feel like a profile,

The eyes, ears, nose, only one side,

Half you know, the other half I hide.

Sometimes I feel as if in silhouette,

The essence of my soul fully in shadow,

Living a life no one will ever know.

Sometimes I feel as if in cameo,

Highlighted in some way, a stand-alone,

Found in the desert as bleached bone.

Sometimes I feel sculpted in wood,

A being once naked and half starved,

Finally, into a work of fine art carved.

Sometimes I feel like a ball of yarn,

On a journey across years of traveling,

Life as tapestry from a ball unravelling.

Sometimes I feel like a threshold,

Waiting patiently at an open door,

With an invitation that touches my core.

Sometimes I feel like a watermark,

Embedded within the grain of parchment,

Who in life’s living knew what it meant.

Sometimes I feel written with invisible ink,

A story to be forgotten that no one can see,

A story intended to be known only to me.

Sometimes I feel like a breath,

A breath in the ebb and flow of life,

A breath of melody on a musical fife.

Sometimes I feel as horizonless sky,

At ease in the heavens on uplisted wings,

Singing sweetly on celestial heart strings.

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Copyright © John Herlihy

Sunday 26 April 2026