I am not.

I am not who I say I am.

not who you see me as.

my words forming description were derived from an inadequately prescribed prescription.

my personality is not my reality.

I truly sit on a cloud, high above the woman you see now.

what is this experience spoken of in terms I cannot understand or conceptualize?

I don’t see the world through my own eyes.

my vision is a recording.

my eyes merely transcribe.

some universal force blessed me with the ability to divorce myself from this being.

I am not seeing what you‘re seeing.

the transcription comes clearer, more broad and lacking bias.

it is the unadulterated reality and I am the pilot.

blind but with a bible of braille teaching me how to be.

the physical world only experiences a small piece of me.

not even my words are formed from this physicality.

but they are translated via my lips so that you can know a way out of your faulter - I give you the opportunity to pray at my alter.

and whether you see me as a mother, or your absent father,

I am not who you think I am.

I am the universe’s daughter.

[note: I previously published this poem and was selected as a Top Story in July 2024….I accidentally deleted it while cleaning up other stories on my profile. I’m so disappointed I can’t recover the original because the comments on it from the Vocal community meant so much to me!]