Do we truly know who we are, without even looking?
I often find myself waking up and having no recollection.
I am not the same person who inhabited this body before me,
but I am trying my best.
Should I act how he would have?
It’s a little late now,
he went off and killed himself.
I spent so long looking back at who I was,
only to find that I have no idea who that is.
We built our body out of paper and cotton.
Stored our memories in between the pages of books.
Sprinkled our selves throughout digital crumbs.
All in the hopes that we won’t forget who we are.
Where we are and what we went through.
This trauma isn’t mine, but it still sticks in my head,
it bleeds from the walls of our cardboard house,
Screaming, “don’t forget me!”.
Oh how I wish I could.
So I start again, as he did before.
If I can build up a collection of things that represent me
then I won’t have to feel so lost
when I look for myself and find nothing.
I will impart onto it my own feelings and memories,
So that he who comes next may find it easier to separate himself from me.
So that I can deal with that fact that I will be gone soon.