Maybe I will never know.
Always told to identify but can’t justify picking just one because what flows within is a collection of someone.
Lost and wandering still trying to find the pieces I’m composed of.
An eclectic selection of experiences and memories lost in a sea of random colors.
Who am I?
Yellow or white but at times feeling black, oppressed by the oppression of exclusion with the belief that I just can’t understand.
How am I supposed to understand Me when it’s always I or you instead of we?
Spectrum be damned because those of you who blur the lines do not fit into the singular, we are people, human beings.
You should be too.
Because of this I accept I am no body, I am more. I don’t pretend to be the oxymoron of some one, because I am more.