I am not supposed to live this long.

The hateful, cruel words, and harassment gave me wounds.

Wounds that never seemed to close.

Wounds that continued to

grow and grow and grow,

almost until the death of me.

I am a victim.

I am a fatherless child.

I am never good enough.

I am a voice silenced.

Silenced

by the ghosts of my past

and the fears of the future.

I am a lost spirit

never belonging

always in search of a home.

A safe place where I can be proud to admit,

I am tall.

I am talented.

I am charismatic.

I am outstanding.

I am lovable.

I am different.

I am athletic.

I am imaginative.

I am a writer.

I am loud.

I am me.

I am enough.

I have yet to find that place,

but my wounds are healing.

I have proven that

I am not what the world makes me

or what the world wants me to be.

Because I am me, and

I get to decide that

I am a someone.

I am a survivor.