I could be somebody else’s story,
Like eleven souls living in a body.
I could be...
A child who scraped his knees while running after the ice cream truck;
The new girl who wears braces and spectacles and was continuosly mocked;
A man covered with tattoos roving in the darkness to make sure his village was safe;
An old lady longing for his son, waiting forever behind the drape;
The famous author who won awards though he is blind, or
A soldier who survived the bombs but not his mind.
I am myself but was never mine,
I could be someone or the only one;
Like an abandoned abstract painting—
you'll never know the tale that was told underneath.
“Once in a golden hour
I cast to earth a seed.
Up there came a flower,
The people said, a weed.– Alfred Tennyson”
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