Who am I?
Does anyone really know the right answer really?
Sigh!
For what I can say,
of all flesh and bones,
I wish to stand out
and yet I don't,
Or maybe I do
And I just don't know why.
But can't be overwhelmed,
For there is a long road to walk.

Identity is luggage
that we carry on our backs
through this walk
But it only grows,
never shrinks.

We can choose what to put in
for once,
but it's hard to let go off,
As for the ones who pass by, it's still your stuff.

Either it fragrances or it stinks,
Even if it's not your call
It defines you,
And your walk
For ones you love, for ones you hate
And for all.

But things do get lost sometimes
No matter, we like it or not
That is the way it is,
That is the way of this walk.

If standing out be the aim,
then the only way seems to be,
to collect the things that no one does.
Something that everyone may dread,
Or something that everyone loves.

But is that really standing out?
Or merely impressing!