A Window Of Me

I am what everyone sees and more

I am the female they put together

But a man wishing they could see

That I cannot possibly be the me they want me to be.

That I am striving for myself to be free;

Free of all the boxes they've packed me into, all the corners I've hidden myself in.

I am an artist who paints in his head

The one dreaming of a day when not everyone's brain is dead

I'm wanting the creativity

I know lives in everyone to escape 

And for the oppressed to flea

I used to be that little girl, aside from all the others,

And now that my age has become larger, I want to be even further.

I want to travel the earth, and roam down roads;

Go to places no one knows

I am the one who writes down words

Too countless to ponder

and wander

Too many to squander.

My days spent counting the leaves

And my hands reaching up towards the trees.

I am kind and I am gentle,

But passionate with furry

And healthily mental.

My love is my home

And my house is their arms.

I am who I am,

Because of others

Each swipe of a hand, a different color.

I am a painting unique,

A mountain not yet reached its peak.

I am the man I am,

Not yet sure of himself.

But I'm sure theres more to find.

This poem is about: 


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