Everyday, every experience, changes, replaces a small piece of you
For better or worse.
I may never come home the same,
Even if I am the same in name.
How long until I’m no longer me?
Tomorrow at lunch, or brunch in five years?
Am I really seventeen, or just a day
Old? New?
I wear the same skin everyday,
But the memory of pain has shed,
All the scrapes and cuts of playgrounds past,
And each day presents a new dusty coat.
How will I know when I’m no longer me?
Will I wake up on an ocean,
On stranger tides,
Newly salted and sun kissed seafoam,
Filled with shiny plastic?
Or is this old boarded up ship already veneered, painted anew
Within?
Am I still cracked, or whole, or halfway?
Can I still be me if all the boards are now poplar?
I fear I have already been
Replaced.
– Pihu J.