𝐏𝐨𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐲

who are we truly inside?

who are we

inside?

someone who has already

died?

a blank canvas that has not yet

dried?

paint me a picture

of who I should be.

turn me into something

people should see.

i'll wait for your design

because it could never be mine.

here I stand

a puppet on strings.

just entertainment

for sorry old kings.

please set me free

i don't know what to be.

find me a mirror,

something to see

my pitiful complextion

staring back at me.

let me decide

who i am inside.