Is there such a thing as finding yourself?
Better to ask nature yourself
Does the ground create borders around the river?
Caging it into its form
Or does the river flow into the land?
Creating for itself a home
If I were to ever get a blank canvas
and paint myself with water colors
Yet forget to add borders...
Where would I begin and end?
That white space without borders
The bleeding river of self
That which has neither form nor self
What does it mean to be I?
What are we?
What are they?
What is being what I am and knowing what is or is not without borders?