What Am I, Without Things;

You are not your age;
Nor the size of clothes You wear;
You are not a weight;
Or the colour of your hair;
You are not your name;
Or the dimples in your read;
And all the words you speak;
You are your croaky morning voice;
And the smiles you try to hide;
You’re the sweetness in your laughter;
And every tear you’ve cried;
You’re the songs you sing so loudly;
When you know, you’re all alone;
You’re the things that you’ve been to;
And the one that you call home;
You’re the photos in your bedroom;
And the future you dream of;
You’re made of so much beauty;
But it seems that you forgot;
When you decide that you defined;
By all the things you’re not;

Erin Hanson