I am not the contents of my wallet.
I am not my skin of grime.
I am neither as strong nor as weak as you may think.
I am not of this earth.
I am not as
quiet as I seem.
I am not a crispy potato, a buttered mollusk, or a spicy tuna.
I am not finished.
I am not a liar. Now ask if I always tell the truth.
I yearn for objectivity, but thus far have not risen above the subjective human experience.
I long for the proximity of
warm fingers yet fear their touch.
I know many people, but cannot see most of them.
I bathe in the glow of their majestic presence and remain physically alone.
I try to wear my heart on my sleeve, but will shy away if given due
provocation.
I abhor
transience, however, I know the difficulty of permanence.
I have been told that I am a
dreamy little human, but do not fully believe so.
I have much to be thankful for and hope that this is known.
I want to
realize my connection to the infinite yet allow myself to be weighted down by
inertia.
I am trying to come to the point.
I am a beautiful and unique snowflake.
So are you.
I am a friend.
I am full of surprises.
I am unknowledgeable of a great many things.
I am
becoming.
I am partly cloudy with scattered
moments of clarity.
I am just as confused as you are.
I am an infinite capacity for love. Or at least I try to be.
Anonymous honesty may destroy me.
My inability to effectively express my thoughts is driving me crazy.