Who are you?
A piece of paper says you are a singer
Scribbled underneath, he is a drummer
In illegible and outdated cursive
You are nothing more
Than a sixteen year old woman
With a record of good grades

You’re just a girl who hasn’t aged on paper
But paper has aged on you
A creased and crinkled sheet
Yellowed by means of stale attic air
Pores brimming with dust
Suffocating the truth and hiding it from us
Hiding you from us

What is your name?
Can I believe the cursive words?
A piece of paper is stained with it
Vanilla as the fresh sheet it was written on
Plain and too straightforward
Like a simple question with an elusive answer
There must be more to you

You were a singer
And he was a drummer
You were sixteen
And yet
Sixteen you still are
Intangible, you are abstract
So we cling to this paper

Are we like you? Am I?
If no one else can unveil these mysteries
Then I will
Because right now
You are nothing more than words of the past
Written in outdated cursive
On a piece of paper