I have heard
everything is a self portrait.
The sound of your laugh
or what sweater you choose
out of the bargain bin.
Your favorite poems,
or the songs you sing
when you think no one is listening.
Your handwriting and
if you dog ear
your favorite book pages.
We would love to think
of ourselves as a mystery,
something one another has to
put together
like a puzzle.
But you do that yourself,
pieces of your identity
your quirks
your habits
are apparent
when you least expect it,
you are the truest you,
in a moment where you don't
even realize it.
You are your own mystery,
and your clues are a give away,
a self portait you paint
for others to admire.