The unknown existanceAn existence, a clone, and the unknownLooking at my hands,I wonder,If my mother once used them,Did I…take them from her?Or am I…just merely a cloneWith alterations from my father.Am I merely just a living sculpture,Done by her determination?Or am I just a doll to look after….What am I?I ask the mirror in front of me,Reflecting only a younger image of my mother back at me,And speaking…words of silence.So,What is there,To prove?That I am not a clone, a doll perhaps?Is there an answer? Was there a question? The answer? Science? No….Science only clearly defines our make-up,But what are the secrets within that?Am I just a soul placed into a compatible body?Or am I just a figurement of imagination?Is this world truly real?This one, I'm standing in,Are they real? Am I…real?Does this world truly exist?Do we truly exist?Do I…exist?Is clearly, unknown.
They gave meThey gave meThe soil…That squished between my toes,The water…That dampened my hair,The fire…That fueled my hate,And the wind…That carried my sorrow.The Earth…That made me physical,The plants…That give me life,And the people…that gave me the happiness, judgment and hope I desired,Also gave me the hope,To keep on going.