A Work in Progess
You could define me in many ways
Artist, basket case, dreamer, hypocrite, athlete, student, introvert, curious, a mystery.
I am none of these completely, but I am all of these to an extent.
We were always told as young children to not judge others or brand them with a label.
Princess, loser, jock, nerd, whore, teacher's pet, the typical classifications of a teenage hallway.
However, we are all blinded by this fake sense of identity.
Everyone desires to find some sort of similarity to someone else.
Independence, being your own kind, different - no longer existent.
I, like anyone else, depend of the acceptance of my peers.
But I'm not exactly the same.
I am aware that I am not perfect. I know all my striving to be so willl end in disaster.
A dictionary cannot define me completely unless it uses the word incomplete.
I am a masterpiece still being painted.
I am a sentence fragment lacking an action verb.
I am a book that is still being written.
Label me if you will, but no word has the capability of fully capturing all that I am.
Or perhaps maybe my soul cannot truly give an accurate definition to any word.
I am incomplete.