Am I?

If I am not my past, then what am I?

Am I my smile, wide and bright?

Am I my laugh, loud and proud?

Am I the one who is loved?

Am I the one who loves?

Am I sunny and happy?

Or am I cold and quiet?

Am I creative?

Or am I ordinary?

Am I friendly, or am I a fraud?

Am I imaginative, or am I crazy?

Am I my weaknesses?

Am I the times I was silent when I should have spoken?

Or am I the times I showed strength and resilience in the face of injustice?

If I am not my past self, am I the present me?

Am I truly?

Can I be someone else?

Who is the present me?

Is she kind, or is she cruel?

Is she forgiving, or is she spiteful?

Is she honest, or is she a liar?

Does she love as deeply as she resents?

Does she give as much as she gets?

Does her good outweigh her bad?

Can it?

Is she redeemed?

Can she ever be?

Do her sins crawl on her back?

Am I those sins?

Or am I my proudest moments?

Am I the love I have for others?

Am I my anger, my spite, my lies?

Am I my fury, simmering low and hot in my soul?

Am I myself at my most rotted?

Am I my gravest mistakes?

I have to be.

But I do not have to be.

Maybe, instead, I am my kindness.

Maybe, I am my love.

Maybe, I am my hope.

Maybe, I am my faith in the world.

Am I my charisma?

Am I my joy?

Or am I my tears, cascading down in silence?

Am I myself at my weakest?

Or am I myself at my strongest?

Am I worth it?

Am I good?

Which side matters more?

Which me am I?

Am I my cowardice?

Am I my graciousness, my silent strengths?

Why are my mistakes the only thing I know about myself?

If I am not my mistakes, I do not know who I am.

Am I wrong?

Am I forgiven?

Am I strong enough to persevere?

Is trying enough?

Am I good?

Or am I evil?

It kills me—

—to know.