How Do You See Me?

How do you see me through that lens of yours? Where the world is colored in floral tones and horizons are met with uncertainty. Where beauty is an undiscovered island in the background of a story you created.

How do you see me, through a lens with broader vision than meets the eye. As a spirit as free as the winds on a sunny August morning, or as confined within my head, my heart as a prisoner shackled to bricks.

How do you see me, through that lens of yours without a flash in the darkness of night which can be considered my soul, where secrets and lies and dreams and nightmares eat at each other, feed each other and destroy a fictional self-created image, its emptiness resonating, surrounding.

I am but a piece of your imagination, which when translated is babble and vitriolic. In your mind and through your eyes this is but an image, nurtured and created by you, when in reality it is nothing more than a person who never was.

The best version of me, is a person who does not exist and although you believe I may be her, I know that I am not.