I am nothing.
Nothing is I
Doesn’t make sense, does it?
To occupy a space
To make a lasting impression beneath your feet
And say those words as breeze bends around you
Everything is something
Nothing is something with everything in it
If I am nothing,
What does that say?
I am still a daughter
A niece
A granddaughter
A friend
A colleague
A lover
A memory.
Or is that too vague?
Am I too much in other eyes?
I don’t sell much, but I’m a painter
Cats may make more pleasant sounds, but I’m a singer
A writer I am and the words are my own
Rough as they are they come from me alone
Music comes in a wordless tune,
But it is mine.
And that is everything.
Paint a Mental Picture 