Words do not define a person.

July 27, 2012
By SharonC GOLD, Markham, Other
SharonC GOLD, Markham, Other
18 articles 32 photos 8 comments

Room 238,
A room like no other,
Row 2,
Filled with people.
6 seats right,
Another student.

My name’s the name,
Though words do not define a person,
I am one with little,
Letters do not speak,
Unable to express,
My smallest thoughts within.

A handout lies awaiting,
Typed in Times New Roman font,
Size twelve, bolded black
Three words printed,
Who am I?
A sheet almost blank.

A simple question,
Yet not at all easy to answer,
I am an average human being,
Living in absolute ordinary,
A person insignificant,
The words seem to fall off the page.

I am the initial impression,
The outside and the inside,
Positive, smart, kind, and caring,
My definition created by others,
Responsible, artistic, and hard-working,
Can I be free from description?

I want to be significant,
Not just chase a gust of wind,
Use creativity to inspire,
Use First-Aid to save a life,
Use presentation and communication,
To be worthy of a part.

I have not changed the world,
No excuse to hide away,
I have tried hard through volunteering,
To small children I am a tree,
To swimmers I am a life jacket,
Pretending is becoming a habit.

Acting as another,
I have grown used to wearing a mask,
Blotting my colours of perception,
Shadowing my self-confidence,
Forgetting the good I have covered up,
Not losing all that I am.

What hurts the most is falling,
After touching the heavenly skies,
The pain is the knowing,
The essence of what could have been,
The world is too busy to notice,
Forgetting the meaning of stillness.

My attempts to leave a mark are meaningless,
Without a person holding on,
Learning differences are welcomed,
Uniqueness is enjoyed,
Relationships help strengthen,
Going beyond open arms.

I learn by seeing,
By looking out at the world,
From images and diagrams,
To people and experiences,
Through time I am growing,
Knowing no limits to the future.

Can I be measured through success?
My awards do not make me true,
My life is not marksman, art, and swimming,
It is every moment alive,
No labels to the seconds,
Life still shaping who I am.

I look around,
Scribbles everywhere,
Thoughts jumbled,
Am I a swimmer?
Am I an artist?
Am I a reader?

I look down,
Page still a white canvas,
Pencil in hand,
The three words no longer mean nothing.
Who am I?
I am me.

The author's comments:
I Am.

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