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.

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