Isn't is amazing how there are a finite number of words, that try to describe my entire existence. They flow from my hands like honey across computer keys. My life in forty-seven lines.
It, to me, is inconceivable that a text box can contain a person, like a frame might contain a photo. So those words might have flown from my fingers, but they are not me.
I am in my work. Puzzles solved and projects planned, each one has a small part of my self within it's ink-stained pages. My poetry and photography represents me far better than forty-seven lines.
If a university turns me away based on a personal statement, I would not be ashamed. After all, those forty-seven lines are not my words. They belong to convention. 'Interpersonal skills' and 'self-confidence'.
I know those words are not me, although I'll write them because I know they are what you want to see.