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Who am I?

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.

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