What is really mine

I struggle
to retain originality
swamped by
external influence
and opinions.

Do I exist as a blank page
a script engraved in stone
or find meaning
in my responses
to stimuli?

Does the correlation
build upon my core
or replaces all
that I ever thought
was mine?

Struggling to find my breath
I wonder If I ever knew what’s mine –
oxygen that sustains
blood that circulates
or the force which responds to it all?

 

Photo Challenge #234