I am so odd and different,
That I am glad in this Land where
I have no crisis that is named Identity!
I am glad it has no name or shape or form in this land.
With my blots and blemishes,
Thoughts and twisted limbs,
I am glad I have so many
Profound things that I think of,
But never of identity.
Like trees in a crowded forest,
I am glad to push and shove,
Twist and turn,
Crawl and climb,
To seek the Sun,
Unaware of my shape and limb.
I am so glad Identity is not my crisis!