i am not the smudges dragged across my paper from the pen when my hands wouldn't stop shaking.
i am not the ***** scuffs on my shoes that were once spotless.
i am not the shriveled leaf that used to be thriving on a tree.
i am not the dust that calmly settled into the corner of the floorboards.
i can convince myself of all of the things that i am not
but struggle to believe what i am.

i am the emotion behind the words i write to escape from reality.
i am the long walks i take when i feel so **** alone.
i am the leaves i plucked off of the bushes when i needed something to tear apart in my hands.
i am a creature constructed of particles bound together, but slowly coming apart at the seams.

but i think the reason i have trouble coming to terms with what i am
is because all i am is really everything i am not.
                                                            ­                               -h.m.r.