You asked me to show you who I am, the real me.
And I couldn’t.
So maybe you left because of that and stopped talking because you thought I was too far gone.
The truth is, that I can’t because I don’t know how to start.
I am a thousand different things, outfits, foods, colors, memories, feelings, emotions, words, movies, flavors, tears, etc.
I am the time I fell off the hammock and got stung by a bee.
The time I saw my first violet/lavender colored crocus.
The first time my color pencil touched the paper.
The taste of my favorite Italian pizza.
The colors of New Years Fire Works.
I am half a billion things, and I couldn’t summarize myself if I tried.
If you were a more patient boy, you would have waited and found out.
Yet you have always been too eager, and I guess I was shut too tight. Whatever the reason, you found someone else who was more open. I found another memory to add to my millions.
Perfectly Imperfect Me 