The Inner Emotions of an Amateur.

Woman of the Future

I am a child.
I am all the things of the past.
I am the gentle rocking of my mother's arms.
I am my parents daughter, my mother's looks and father's mind.
I am the giggles and laughter of my sisters.

I am all I see.
All the words, pages and chapters of the books I own.
The view of the neighbourhood's rooftops from my backyard tree.
I am the sun gleaming through my window as it rises.
The bright smiles on my friends faces when we see each other.

I am all I hear.
I am the sweet melody of soothing tune.
The constant ping of my phone with messages.
The hoots and squeaks of my clarinet when I first learned.

I am all I feel and taste.
The gentle tap of my fingers on the keyboard, typing away.
The faint taste of blood when I bite my lip too hard.
The goosebumps scattering down my arms on a cold day.

And all I remember.
The many playdates with friends.
The teasing and name-calling of ignorant children.

I am all I have been taught.
To be open-minded and honest.
The countless math equations, musical pieces and science experiments.

I am all I think.
The infinite outcomes of a single event.
The many ideas for new books and stories.

I am all those things.
I am like a story waiting to be told, a note waiting to be played.

I am all this and more,
For I am the Woman of the Future.