put your finger on the trigger, aim, and let it rain.

cross your fingers and say you do it for the earth.

shoot until bullets turn into petals, and until the ground’s thirst is quenched. shoot until the metal burns hot, and your skin starts to melt. shoot until pain breaks every promise you’ve ever made.

if somebody asks you,
“who are you?”

here’s what you should say;

that you’re a god who swaps faces
more than the moon changes its phases.

that you’re a different person than who you were,
yet you’re the same person you always were.

that you’re a mess that contradicts itself,
that you’re a puzzle yet a piece of something else.

that you’re the rise and fall of empires,
that you’re a phoenix without its fires.

if you ask yourself,
“who am i?”

here’s what you do know:

you are you.