"I am me.."
Who ever that may be.
Made by a world,
Not easily understood.
I am what I am.
Of race ethnicity or a sexuality.
A loner, an outcast, or unappealing you see.
Popular and attractive or just plain carefree.
I think what I want.
Not what they tell me.
With their tubes and their lies and their tricks
To try and bend me.
I am who I am.
But this is not by choice
Nor is it something given quite like an invoice.
Being me is simply a feeling
That I alone know.
Even if its something I can't easily say
And not knowing the answer straightaway.
Which starts with the words, "I am me.."
Kirsten Z. Jacob