I am not who I say I am.
not who you see me as.
my words forming description were derived from an inadequetly prescribed prescription.
my personality is not my reality.
I truly sit on a cloud, high above the woman you see now.
what is this experience spoken of in terms I cannot understand or conceptualize?
I don’t see the world through my own eyes.
my vision is a recording.
my eyes merely transcribe.
some universal force blessed me with the ability to divorce myself from this being.
I am not seeing what you‘re seeing.
the transcription comes clearer, more broad and lacking bias.
it is the unadulterated reality and I am the pilot.
blind but with a bible of braille teaching me how to be.
the physical world only experiences a small piece of me.
not even my words are formed from this physicality.
but they are translated via my lips so that you can know a way out of your faulter - I give you the opportunity to pray at my alter.
and whether you see me as a mother, or your absent father,
I am not who you think I am.
I am the universe’s daughter.
About the Creator
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