The Shape Of What We Are
The Problem of Being
Sometimes I think I want to be someone
sometimes I realize I am someone
but who am I?
What is that question really asking?
I don’t know if I’m the one asking the questions
or if I’m the one with no answers
Sometimes I think I am made of love
and the only answer is that love is the equation
I’m trying to solve
That equation is me
but I’m more than a problem
I am more than just questions
Is it okay if I say I’m the universe
experiencing a person
a person who doesn’t know her name
I walk in the rooms with small steps
trying not to disturb the air
trying not to be a burden to the atmosphere
I stare at walls without any color
I wonder if I am nothing
while believing I am everything
I am this empty house without
an owner and without windows
there is no view of my life from here.
Made of the Same Essence
Where is god
I like to think she’s inside me
I like to think I know her by name
We have known each other
since the beginning of time
before time even began
Is it ok to say I’m god
and you are too
both of us not knowing
What we are doing down here
in the midst of all the mess
we are walking together
But we cannot see each other’s
real selves, we only see the
outline in the sky of who we are
I am you and you are me
we are we, made of the same essence
still denying what we really are.
The Scent of Our Truth
There’s a place out by the green grasses
where we could be one
we could sit and contemplate ourselves
Under a hot and glowing sun
as if we were not just people
but something far beyond our humanity
Whatever spirit lives inside us
it’s as if the universe wants us to find
our real essence, the scent of our truth
We are beauty, there is no other color
than the shades that we paint our
inner walls with, the windows in our eyes
You and me, we are it, we are the whole thing
yet we race around the earth looking
for ourselves under trees and beneath the soil
When we are really the only flowers
that bloom all year round
even when the winter freezes our roots
We tell a story about death
but it is not our tale
it’s only rumors
We don’t die, we only change
we don’t live,
we only pretend to.
nina
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