Who are you?
From your rushing blood,
the angel kissed freckles on your skin,
the swirls of your fingerprints,
to the blooming dashes in your eyes that create black-centered suns.
Who are you?
A name strung from old and new,
a face painted and sculpted with colors and shapes from the past,
a time of day from birth until last breath,
a generation that stands together yet at odds everywhere,
a race of beating hearts, misunderstanding, insatiable curiosity and wonder.
Who are you?
A creator,
a destroyer,
a conqueror,
a sigh.
A lover,
a loner,
a whisper,
a cry.
Who are you out there?
You are everything.
You are a voice, a frown, a smile, a laugh.
You alone wear a mask of no other, a nom de plume of your choice.
You alone have the power to build your galaxies, raise your kingdom, string together solar systems and fit together mysteries.
You are human. You are one of millions.
You are you.
You are the echo of the past, a key to the future.
A discoverer.
An inventor.
An artist.
Nom de plume, you choose who you are and where you go.
Key to the future, you unlock your world.
YOU ARE READING
The Thing With Fangs
PoetryA collection of poems and ramblings from the deafening mind of a quiet girl.
