does anybody
really know
who we are?
can they tell
just by looking
upon our scars?
do they think
when we bleed
in blackened tones,
our bodies ink
just seemed to seep
from an unturned stone?
who we are
is night and day
a happy home
or just a place
to stay
winters in front
of fireplaces
or in cardboard boxes
in empty spaces
who we are
is where we've been
it's stories from things
that can never be unseen
it's how we laugh,
or choke or scream
it's about where we are going
it's not about presentation
it's all about the journey
to our ultimate destination