I am not my weary bones
that drag me through the mud.
Nor the arms that hang beside me
or the beating of my blood.
Nor the cracking joints and fragile skin
that breaks oh so easily

I am not my tired muscles that strain
and beg me to lie down
My worn out eyes that long for sleep
but can’t let slip my crown
I am not the tears in my eyes
that glisten and wish to weep

What am I, you ask?

I am my beating heart
that pounds like a giant drum
my aching soul, my twinkling laughter
my courageous spirit next to none
I am my brilliant mind
that doesn’t know where I’m ending up,
but I know what I am and I know what I’m not
and for now I think that’s enough.