The Inkpad

Who/What describes a person?

There. It's done. My  thumb is pressed flat on the inkpad.

Swirls from my thimbprint rolled in ink,

Pressed down by a stranger's helping hand.

Yet...what do you know of me?

 

My height cannot reflect the hopes and dreams

of my aspirations, or record the dead weight

 of my shoulders, bending me

 

What can just the color

of my eyes alone tell of me?

For behind the veil of my eyes lies

the ocean of my soul,

with all its hidden undercurrents.

Do they record the hot tears that have fallen?

Or the suppressed ones, those more numerous

than those that fell.

 

Can they tell you, if I'm going to hell?

 

You check my body for identifying scars....

but what of the scars upon my mind and heart?

 

The shiny shoes I walked in with...

Lie...don't show the rough and jagged

paths I've traveled around in circles...

the dignity I've lost , or tell you my secrets

 

You see my fingerprint...

but you do not see me

 

Author's Note

No grammer, just honest feedback