Who are you?



Who’s to say that who I am is wrong?

That what I do is dumb?

Who are you to say that I’m not beautiful?

Those eyes of yours that judge so high

I laugh, because you are blind.


Look at me, something about me is beautiful.

I was made from God’s own hands.

Shaped and molded from sand.

The little brown fragment pieces that God put together and called them eyes,

They hold something bright.


Brighter then what you can see from the outside.

This soul of mines that shines like the night sky,

Put up one hell of a fight.


So I ask you…

Who are you to judge my life?

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