Who

Who,
That’s the question.
Who are we?
Are we people?
Are we objects?
Do we even exist?

Who is she?
An object for sure.
And aren’t all women?
Just objects put on Earth
For men’s pleasure?

And who is he?
This man?
Does he hit this woman?
Or kiss her?
Is he also an object?
Or a person?

Who am I?
The shy girl in the corner,
The observer,
The faithless poet.
Am I a person
Or an object?
Do I exist to you?

Who are you?
Are you a lover?
A fighter?
Black or white?
Rich or poor?
Are you an object?
Do you exist?

And does this matter?
Who she is,
Who he is,
Who I am?
Does the way I look define me?
Does her sex define her?
Does reputation define him?

So who are we?
Can that be answered so simply?
And who says who we are?
Do we even know?
That’s the beauty of this life,
We don’t have to know.
We are nothing,
But we are everything.