Who am I
This flesh and bone cage
Proving a hindrance
A canvas for the paint
Of scorn and judgment
A creation of a persecution
Deserved by none;
Who I am buried
Beneath brush strokes
Colors that mean nothing
When looked at with a blind eye;
My canvas is one of love
An identity and struggle
One that smudges
Strays from between the lines
Of what is accepted;
But on my life’s canvas
Who I am is who I am
One that I do not even know at times;
Each stroke of the brush
Is a different moment;
My life in color
Vivid, all mine