to say I am my own
is a misunderstanding.
I am not my own.
I have no business living in my body.
every so often
a soul enters and departs
slipping and evaporating like clouds
and hazy veils of smoke.
the souls tell me who they were
and what they weren't.
I can no longer help them
since their time is up.
no wonder people ask
"what are you thinking about?"
for souls pass through me like doors
and gates left cracked ajar.
to say I am not myself
is an understatement.
I am emptied.
I hold weary travelers as if they were my own.