By: the iHope Poet
Sometimes I feel like a big piece of Fake,
Tossed around and molded by the others.
I'm given legs, two arms and a brain,
And then they expect me to design my own heart.
What will I love, believe in, feel for?
How will I use this thing, which they say has such an empowering influence
On the rest of "who I am"?
I realize now, my heart can never be completely sculpted by my own two hands.
Because those hands may be artificial,
And they've been made to do what the world would have them do.
So you see, how my entire being is a product of everything else,
Leaving me with hardly any space to form even the single, most important organ in my body?
Not that I mind,
We are all influenced by the rest of them in some way or another.
All I can do is make the best of what I've been given.
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