Who are you?
You are not your height
You are not your weight
You are not you not your attitude
You are not your make up nor clothes
You are not the music they make you listen to
Nor the formulae you can never remember
You're not the mundane mortal,
That they want you to believe you are
You are your bed, unmade at noon
You are the new school books that smell like the New Year
You are unsteady hands, and a lip-biting habit
You are your much-too-loud, body-shaking chuckles
You are the vocab lists you never memorized,
You are procrastination before a final
But you are also success,
For you are your love of learning
You are your favorite author's words, every single one of them
You are your mother's homemade chicken soup on a rainy day
You are your little brother's laughing eyes,
And his ability to withstand being bossed around
You are your father's driving lessons,
The ones that always end up, where they began
You are your grand-father's stories
And the grass on your front lawn
You are your neighbor's hospitality,
And the fur on your dog's coat
You are your guilty pleasures,
The ones that weren't made for guilt
You are not the Top 40 radio hits,
Nor the pop-stars that you've watched fade away
You're not your laptop or cell phone
You are more than cells and cytoplasm,
You're the words that slip from your lips,
at 2 am, into darkness
That hold you together, while you fall apart
You are your favorite singer's voice,
And that time when you ran across the finish line before anybody else,
You are your first-grade teacher's christmas cookies,
And your high school principal's never ending lectures
Who you are
Can't be definied by your name, height, or age
Who you are
is defined by who and what you love,
more than waking up late on a Sunday morning.
You are not your height
You are not your weight
You are not you not your attitude
You are not your make up nor clothes
You are not the music they make you listen to
Nor the formulae you can never remember
You're not the mundane mortal,
That they want you to believe you are
You are your bed, unmade at noon
You are the new school books that smell like the New Year
You are unsteady hands, and a lip-biting habit
You are your much-too-loud, body-shaking chuckles
You are the vocab lists you never memorized,
You are procrastination before a final
But you are also success,
For you are your love of learning
You are your favorite author's words, every single one of them
You are your mother's homemade chicken soup on a rainy day
You are your little brother's laughing eyes,
And his ability to withstand being bossed around
You are your father's driving lessons,
The ones that always end up, where they began
You are your grand-father's stories
And the grass on your front lawn
You are your neighbor's hospitality,
And the fur on your dog's coat
You are your guilty pleasures,
The ones that weren't made for guilt
You are not the Top 40 radio hits,
Nor the pop-stars that you've watched fade away
You're not your laptop or cell phone
You are more than cells and cytoplasm,
You're the words that slip from your lips,
at 2 am, into darkness
That hold you together, while you fall apart
You are your favorite singer's voice,
And that time when you ran across the finish line before anybody else,
You are your first-grade teacher's christmas cookies,
And your high school principal's never ending lectures
Who you are
Can't be definied by your name, height, or age
Who you are
is defined by who and what you love,
more than waking up late on a Sunday morning.