you are not your age,
nor the size of clothes you wear

you are not a 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 your croaky morning voice,
and the smiles you try to hide

you’re the sweetness in your laughter,
and every tear you’ve cried

you’re the songs you sing so loudly,
when you know you’re all alone

you’re the places that you’ve been to,
and the one that you call home

you’re the things that you believe in,
and the people that you love

you’re the photos in your bedroom,
and the future you’re 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.



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