Rip. Rip. Rip.
So familiar the sound.
So swift.
So calm.
So finite.
Rip. Rip. Rip.
My life: a collage.
Tiny pieces of who I am
Each picture with edges torn
Each different, yet so similar
Rip. Rip. Rip.
Slowly the pieces add up
Pictures overlap.
Who am I today?
Who will I be tomorrow?
Rip. Rip. Rip.
I am you.
I am me.
Rip. Rip. Rip.
I will be her,
I will be him.
I will be them.
Rip. Rip. Rip.
The picture is not me anymore.
The collage no longer has shape.
Piece after piece becomes unidentifiable.
R.I.P. R.I.P. R.I.P.
I am gone.
Slowly, surely
The pictures take over.
I am lost within the clutter.
Face, upon face, upon face
But you cannot see mine,
Step. Step. Step.
I step back to see my creation.
My creation does not see me.
It sees no one
Hears no one
IS no one.
Shred. Shred. Shred.
Piece by piece my creation is gone.
I scratch at my work.
Claw and tear until nothing is left.


There is something underneath.


Clear. Clear. Clear.


I am there.


I am here.


One solid piece.


No pictures to put me together.


No more collage of faces that do not belong to


me.


I am no one else.


I. Am. Free.