FRUITS OF MY MOUTH.
WORKS OF MY HANDS.

‘Who am I?’ ……. if I knew I’m sure I could say. Tell you all the things that define me. But that’s just it, I’m indefinite and undefinable. I live, I breath, I grow so evidently I change, adapt. sometimes fall back and other times move forward. I am not a constant, though I can be consistent. I’m not bad though I can do wrong. I’m not perfect, no matter how much of it I paint myself with. I’m only unique so I can fit in with society’s majority; one that branches out from the boundaries and does things differently; pride themselves on being ‘free’, on being different, but were not. If we are all different then really were just one unique.

But there’s a fine thread that’s holding taught between the lines of unique and monotony. It’s the differences within our same unique. Those small differences. My own make up parts of me. The part that creates, the part that writes, the part that believes, the part that perseveres, the part that’s lazy, the part that hopes, the part that gives, the part that performs, the part that prays, the part that hurts, the part that knows this too shall pass, these parts, these small differences, these tiny uniques, every fragment and piece……

This is raw, this is me.