What My Name Really Is

I am a veteran, a war torn tragic mind.
Useless words and pseudonyms, I've watched my best friend die.
I can hear the voice, I hear the shattered cries.
Like a sleepless baby begging for a lullaby.

I am a little boy, a careless wandering mind.
I came into this world unsure of what I'd find.
The chimney exhales smoke like my father and cigars.
I will be like him, but right now I am not so far.

Don't ask me what my name really is.
I am you.
We are all of this.
Don't ask me, ask yourself.

I am a loving mother, frightened by the day
My kids'll go into the world, look at me and say,
"The goddesss in the kitchen made me who I really am."
Asleep in your lap, the dog looked comfortable with death.

Is this truth?
How all things tied come back to you.
One day soon, I will be there with you.

The goddess in the kitchen is cooking for the veteran.
While the dog is roaming the garden with the boy.

The way it should have been.