Picture perfect

They say a picture is worth one thousand words. I wonder what picture they were looking at when they said that. Was it a picture of a man whose home is a box next to a dumpster in an old, dirty alley in the city? Perhaps it was a picture of a young girl with a decision to make, save a life or turn her back on it. Or maybe even a picture of a child whose parents were never coming home because of their lack of wanting a child. Why one thousand words? What would those words say? Would they be able to tell the story of how the man lost everything because of his love of an addiction more than his love of family or a job? What would they tell me of the girl who was more scared to lose her life at school than to dedicate it to an innocent? Can they tell me what a child would do to survive in this world knowing they were not wanted, always being afraid they are not wanted by anyone? If they took my picture, which picture would it be and what would it say? Would it be the picture of me sitting alone in my room with a sketch book as my closest friend? The picture of me standing on the edge fighting to find a reason not to jump? Or the picture of me screaming silently, a hollow sound in a hollow world. What would those one thousand words say about me? Do I have a choice in what they say? What would I want them to say? Would I lie and tell a story everyone wants to hear even if I must lose myself to gain their audience, or would I tell the true story that no one cares to hear even if I must spend forever alone just to be true to myself? What would I do? What would any of us do?