"Who am I?"
Is the question I keep asking.
“Who am I?”
Is the reason I keep lacking
And as you girls walk by
I think
Oh, what a sight to see
because

I could never be
as sweet and kind as her,
or
as driven and ambitious as her,
or
as smart and unique as her,
or,
as talented and creative as her
or,
as funny or relatable as her

So which traits make me different from the rest?
what traits are mine, the query heavy on my chest?
is there anything which I am the best?

What makes me 'me'?
Is the new question I keep asking
What makes me 'me'?
Is what keeps my worth sinking

Who am I, that I should stand
That I should speak as though I understand
That I should sing when words fail
That I should live to tell the tale
Who am I, that I should write
Of one beyond our mind and sight
Who am I, that He might save
When I should be the one in that grave
Who am I, that I should look on love
And feel him smiling from up above
Who am I, that I should gaze upon Him
Against whose radiance the sun is dim
In Him I find my identity, who I really am
A child of the king and a precious lamb

He calls us children and loves us the same
He knows us and calls us each by name
Who is He, that He should send His son to die
That He was earthly virtue personified
That He would serve and love and teach
That across the miles and years He would reach
That He would come again one day
Who sent His Spirit to us to stay
Who is He that considers me worthy
Who is He of endless grace and mercy
He is my everything: my beginning and my end
He is my strength and shield in whom I depend
He is mine and I am His
I am a child of Jesus!

Trees,flowers,leaves and grass
All so different
But all live in harmony
Different shapes and sizes,
All together,
In tranquility.
Why cant we?
Seeds from different plants
Expressing ourselves in different ways
Some could be considered beautiful to gaze
But have thorns hidden like a rose,
Whilst some are considered hideous but feed others, like weeds
Thats why roses focus on beauty,
And weeds focus on personality.

To love me is to put up with a messiness I inherited from my mother.
The displays of self loathing and self sabotage i work on daily.
The clothes I leave on the floor.
The coffee cups in the sink.
The bed unmade and the too many shoes.

To love me is to deal with an annoying amount of independence I inherited from my father.
The acts of self serving that I work on daily.
The know it all moments when I’m working on something or fixing something.
The confidence in my work ethic, my persona & who I am.
The laughter I have over everything.

To love me is to know the loyalty and respect I’ve inherited from my stepmom.
The empathy I still long for and work to find daily.
The care over details.
The nurture I give when you’re sad or sick.
The standing up for you but also putting you in your place.

To love me is to cope with the stoic coldness and wandering spirit I’ve inherited from my grandma.
The parts of me you’ll never fully know that I work to show you daily.
The look of dismay I sometimes don’t know is on my face.
The inability to stay in one place for too long without going insane.
The moments I want to run away and never look back.

To love me is to cope.
Cope with knowing sometimes I’m mean.
Sometimes I’m sad.
And sometimes I love fiercely and passionately.
To love me is to love all of me.
Everything I’ve inherited and everything I’ve learned and unlearned over time.
To love me is to be loved in return.

And sometimes I don’t tell anyone my feelings
As there is no language that could describe them.

How does one create so much pressure that doesn’t exist
And still destroy them?

Life itself makes no sense
And yet here we are

Maybe there was never a place in the world
For people like you and me
We just  happen to be here.

I'm not sure exactly where I stand
When people ask me if I'm a boy or a man.
But does it really matter?
You're going to see what you want to see.
You're going to say what you want to say.
So while you decide, I'll be standing on the side
Just being me.