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Own It
The blood that courses through my vessels
Is mine.
The veins that artistically outline my body
Belong to me.
The frame that houses my flesh
Represents me. And I own it.
Underneath the mat of hair resides my brain,
Which for better or for worse dictates my actions.
My imperfections further goad me to be who I am.
It’s okay to be sentimental: to embrace faults.
Yet, I have heard: “never apologize because it’s a sign of weakness.”
Is there not fortitude in fallibility?
Do our limitations identify us?
In browsing the infinite realm of character traits,
Is it possible to encapsulate ourselves with just a single term?
Does a word encompass who we are? Are we defined by an expression?
Words are not the sole substance of a person;
It is the deeds one commits that impress.
Without labels, we become unique.
We are distinctive beings because of our inherent essences.

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