You cannot define me.
I am but a petalless flower, a bud, sewn shut with transparent thread.
I exist in a reality unlike the one you know, a reality I created within my soul,
Where this body does not belong to me, but contains me,
Along with many other beings, and a divided identity.
I don't fully understand how it works,
Merely I am the spokesperson for my voiceless companions,
The words I write are written by my hands, but are not written by me…
They are written through me.
I've stopped thinking of myself as a person, but as multiple folded dimensions,
All wearing the same face, so to strangers I always appear the same,
But my reflection is ever changing.
You see a young female with long brown hair, but that is only my body.
I am nothing...and I am everything.
I am a single drop of water,
But I am also the waterfall.
I am a single leaf clinging to a branch,
But I am also the tree.
If you mix every color in a rainbow, you end up with a murky brown.
Similarly, if you combine everything this body holds, the souls, the minds, the homeless thoughts, you get one being.
So although all these colors create me, they are still very much separate.
And I am simply the making of a thousand individual beings.
And I am but a witnessed illusion.