Don’t you feel cold?
Will words warm you?
Will they flesh you out, give you substance?
I’ve heard it’s not a good idea to depend too much on others to define oneself,
But I understand that it must be tough just being a frame,
Waiting for someone to put in their picture.
These are my parents, and this is my childhood sweetheart whom I never saw again after the third grade.
Du you like my picture?
This is the cat I found, but was not allowed to keep.
And this is the old lady who lived next door and always waved at me, when I went to school.
Sometimes I pretended she was my grandmother.
Sometimes I pretended she was a witch and her wave was a curse.
Does this make you more you?
Does this make you more someone?
Who are you?