Who am I in this body
I rarely woke up to the sound of an alarm
To start a day is not my favorite part
The routines were unbearable some days
That to lift my arm for the brush
Felt like a heavy workout
Days and months drifting away
As if I’m ready for another countless day
Playing with chances until the time stops passing by
Moments are piling up
As stories stored to unedited manuscript
Some Mondays I had self-loathe for dinner
The other crowded morning
I dwell to the unclaimed grief
Who am I in this uncertain time
An angry woman who’s confused over her hairline
A sad oldest daughter with crippled sentiment
That growing despair
Is starting to be
The only flavor she is familiar with
But who am I without all this
What sight do I have
If darker grey
Is the only color I’d use for my self-portrait
Who am I to have the say
Of what this void could explain
Because me and the memories I have
Is longer than the song
I chose for this sound