you are not your age,
nor the size of clothes you wear,
you are not your weight,
or the colour of your hair.
You are not your name,
or the dimples in your cheeks,
You are all the books you read,
and all the words you speak,
You are the croaky morning voice,
and the smiles you try to hide,
you are the songs you sing so loudly,
when you know you're all alone,
you're the places that you've been to,
and that one that you call home,
you're the things that you believe in,
and the people that you love,
you're the photos in you bedroom,
and the future you dream of,
you're made of so much beauty,
but it seems that you forgot,
when you decided that you were defined,
by all the things you're not.
_E.H
