A bustling, busy city
The smell of salt and fish in the air
It’s a beautiful part of me
Yet I do not belong there
They say that one thing happened
The stories are few and different,
every time I hear something new.
It’s as if there is no truth
Living with a constant unknown
never a clarity or a certainty.
My story was unfinished from the beginning
It’s a confusing part of me
“What’s your real name?”
“Who are you really?”
People ask or they wonder silently.
What can I say short of a lie?
They are confused,
yet they have no right to ask.
I am the one without a clue.
I’m the one without permanence.
They should not ask me to give them
something that I have never
been able to give myself:
Answers.
“Who are your real parents?”
Parents: The people who raised me.
The people that gave me
Love, motivation, and strength.
But what do you mean by “real”?
What is really real?
What is truly true?
Is there really truth in reality?
All of my life I have been searching
All of my years I have been hungering
for something more…
Yet I’ve never found it.
I want you to know
without having to ask.
But if you have to ask
I’d rather you stay confused.
So my mouth remains wordless,
my voice without volume
because pity is something
I strongly resent.
Not by blood, nor by name,
nor by law do I belong.
From where I come is unknown,
but where I am now is my own choice,
my own life, my own story.
Where I’m from has no importance,
only that I am happy where I am now,
but as for the “who”
I will keep on searching.
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