There’s a thin line
between who I am and what I am.
Am I the one you think of
when the rain washes down your window?
Am I the reason you stay up at night?
Am I what the poets call hurricane?
Am I the monster they scare children with?
Or the lullabies they fall asleep to?
What am I?
Am I the scars on my body?
Am I my tears?
Am I the person lingering
in my kaleidoscope memories?
In the glint
of the broken broken fragments of my mind.
Is it who I am or what I am?