I keep looking at the words
On my walls
But I can't read them
Not in the sentences they are formed
I can't come to terms with my history
I keep thinking about
What they all meant at one time
My journal from the ceiling
To the floor from the window to door
Wall to wall
Why did I write this all
Names of people I hope to never forget
Lyrics from songs I felt could tell you
Who I am
Poems and things
Well they can't tell you who you are
That can't be described
Because who you are changes
Like a shore line after every high tide
Some people will like your shore
No matter what your low tide
Reveals
Some times it takes more time to
Find person who
Excepts the outcome of your storms
Because they will be able to collect the
Pretty things
Like your shells, sea glass, and rocks
And will hold on to them and show you
All the beautifull things you uncover
Just wait you will know when they come
When the do
They'll see your earth as an adventure
The X on the map that lead them to
You and alternate map they get to explore