Through their eyes they see me as this..something that is not it. But I wonder if they see me questioning, everything I've ever known. questioning the things I have outgrown. The things I left alone when I was alone, when my home was not a home to know. Things that I own, as a whole. I wonder if they see these question marks curl around my body and end at the period of all my sentences, statements that I make that are that of a trace of things that I feel. I wonder if they ever question if I feel my confusion. Is it an illusion? I hope. But for somebody so focused on being in touch, I would hope that they would clarify their own. Reunite their stares into something worth meaning. Something worth rhyme and reason, worth perfect timing, that would remind me that without the seasons, we would never appreciate change. And it's ironic because I live in a place where the weather remains, constantly encased in an ever changing pace and my mind stays the same. I wonder if they recognize that I still stay the same me through storms and rainbows. Any way the wind blows, I refuse to stick my finger to the wind and tell them which direction it shows. Some things are not my responsibility. Some things are not part of my dignity. Some nights I sink. Some days, I wreak of testimonies I recite to ignite my truths. But what are you? What are you made up of, that could ever judge the questions, the answers that I seek? Just believe. Just, please, let me be. I already told you, I am free.