I’m sick of creating new accounts
To speak to every part of me
My personality split beyond the screen,
Trying to figure out who I’m meant to be—
A poet? A friend? A chef? An architect?
I’m sick of portraying less than half of me.
So as I write my poems,
Aspire toward a degree,
As I travel the world
And learn who I’m meant to be,
This is me:
A niche within itself,
A category few can reach,
A personality that is one of many,
Bundled into the joy I call life.
Nothing more, nothing less—
Just every fragment of my mind
Pieced together, forming me.