Who Am I?

Who would I be without my books? 

Without my little yellow cactus plant and the shaggy carpet in my room? 

Who am I without my records? 

Who am I without the people I call family? Friends? 

Underneath every flashing light of my so called life

What is left behind? 

I chose that cactus from a shelf of hundreds.

Hand picked each book.

And record. 

I have the freedom to choose which faces I wake up to each morning. 

But do the choices make you 

Or do you make them?


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