Writing

You ask who I am.

Honestly, I wonder that too.

Sometimes I'm one thing, other times another.

Sometimes I feel like I'm just shattered glass piecing itself back together.

And then breaking again.

she comes from a world

of puddles and stars.

from a world where

lion and lamb play

innocently, happily together.

a world where she wears

her heart on her sleeve,

and hopes and trusts although

There's an oversized panda bear sitting on my bed right now.

Normally I don't even think about it.

Why would I?

But right now I am.

And it made me think

can it see me?

does it think about me?

It's a band piece

weird, I know

it's from last year

and we only played it in concert once

but it means a lot to me

it reminds me of a lot.

Of Webtoons and authors and demented circuses

    There was a fox in the woods with a crown bestowed upon his head. He wandered the area, and every other fox bowed to him. He had power, more so than anyone else. 

Far too often the piles cascade too high

I can't see the top of who I am

even though I chose each object,

each emotion,

and each action.

I can't understand the tip of the iceberg though