Most people find their selves,
in the simplest of ways.
I have not been so lucky,
to be one of those people.
While many people have everything
planned out completely,
I am still searching,
for who I really am.
Every day I become more of a puzzle.
I find myself,
in strangely worded poetry,
and old black and white photos.
I find my purpose,
in the old book beside my bed.
Although I've read it over and over,
I still discover something knew each time.
I find myself in the music,
not the songs on the radio though.
But the ones that few people know,
that sing to the heart and not the mind.
I am not simple,
or normal or easily figured out.
I am complex.
I am unsure of who I am.
