As I am

I feel that the vision of myself is foggy but vivid. My being as wavy as a mirage but bright, as if the sun were centimeters away from the curved outline of my eyes. The wisps of light jingling from my soul would fracture in infinite directions above your pupils.

I vividly know that my veins are deep violet, tunneling within the muscle like the roots absorbing the nutrients inside the soil for the tree's. Channels running steep into my thick bones branching around my system - held up by a columned spine with brown skin wrapped around every inch of my vessel. Whose features change with each year that is etched into me. The time keeping a folder of my youth and beyond similar to the circle rings that mark each year of growth counted by the base of the trunk. And it gets brittle like bark- my dead hairs fall, and I react to the eve, my pores sprouting the metropolis of wild mushrooms and my skin veers into light and dark shades alike the gradient autumn leaves.

But I also know that I am foggy. My light would sometimes dim. No level of absorption will supply my greenery forever. I age and my trunk holds onto dead skin to remind me that death always accompanies me. If I am sick, my pores willingly opened their mouth for those spores hovering around, making the decision for me. Sometimes my cells attack my underpinnings since I am often foreign to myself while a lot of my existence is involuntary.

I am fully aware that there are a range of faces with different outcomes of features who have a body similar to mine. I differ in the way that I control it. I admire the depths of human nature and life itself. I have a comfortability for the unknown and the unliked. I tend to even go over the thought processes of those I have never met or the actions I have never done. I tend to think of what I haven’t seen and what hasn’t existed. I urge myself to look from a different view every time. I thrive to make an effort to understand others and the world although I am usually misunderstood.

***

My journey makes me different and I know that I possess the labyrinth of lines, encompassing the padded ridges on my hands, which shape my identity. I have some sort of path that will lead me to the blueprint of the purpose of my pulse. In the grey unknowns of this existence. And I will always walk among the earth as I am.