It’s not easy to know what makes up
your identity…
who you are when you are free
Or maybe it’s who they want you to
be.
Some don’t get the chance to say,
‘This is ME.’
Some are stopped from living to
succeed,
Instead told they must follow
Something far more hollow,
A shell of a person that becomes
their today…and tomorrow.
Is it the outer appearance that
gives that sense?
The shape and form and tense?
Is it the position held within a
fence
of society
Blocked off by conforming ideology?
Is it the things we do
that give us our sense of true
Self?
I know that I do not wish
To be placed inside a box or a bowl
Like a fish,
Where one must swim around…and
around…and around to please
Others whom just sit back with
ease.
Don’t tell me to be different than
I am today,
A person whom is finding their own
way
And does not want to stay
In a cage.
If I choose to be your opposing
thought
One whom will not be wrought
With fear or wracked with jealousy
Not taught to think what I do not
believe,
Even if it is all that the eye can
see.
I will remain
One and the same
The person whom looks like me,
holds all my heart, and is called by my name.
Claire Connor
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