What are we? 

A butterfly was first a caterpillar, no?

A frog was once a tadpole, no? 

We were once subjected to swimming through the body of our Mother’s, no? 

We are physical beings made of matter, no? Yet, below the skin and bones and muscle and tissue, we are not the same?

How am I to know whether within me lies evil?

Or bravery? 

I am the same as some, 

with dulled bone structure 

that leaves my face hanging in place, right?

However, when I sink below

the eye sockets that structure me, 

am I to see a bright flashing bulb that 

signifies my brilliance? 

Are some of us meant to be ingenious while 

others are meant to wither into the shadows?

For past our skeletal regime, we are all a 

mystery to each other: No?