On the surface, I’m just another girl;
Nothing astoundingly sui generis.
But as my true self will unfurl,
You’ll see I’m all but generic.
Just a simple soul, trudging through
The ineffable maze called life.
Akin to making that elusively perfect brew,
It’s onerous to solve the mystery I am.
It isn’t merely what I do and how,
That can solve the conundrum of my existence.
Plainly put, tied into an intricate bow,
Are my thoughts and work, the body the thread.
A student, attempting to learn my subject,
And analyse rather than just swot.
A poet, assaying to portray my object,
And caress words rather than just scrawl.
Riveted to family with searing love,
Continuosuly nagged by the inner nomad.
For savoury victuals, I can shove
To devour delicacies with zealousness.
My virtues my troth, benevolence and ardour,
My nature frank, unpretentious and lucid.
Words flowing from the heart forever,
Bestowing a precise veracity.
Perceived as a sagacious fledgling by most,
A decrepit soul prodded by the inner child.
Mature may be my elocution, actions almost,
Yet not completely apt to be an adult.
The self is incongruous in expression;
Quieter than a silent frosty night at times,
At others, bursting into a paroxysm of emotion,
Oft leading to dazed reactions.
My words doth not justify my being,
I, mere mortal, only have experienced.
To say I know myself, ‘tis, lying,
For continue to evade me does my self.