How do we describe a person?

By using words such as worse than?

Is it the person or the soul,

We strive to label

Is it whole,

Or broken, tossed under the table?

We ask,

Who are you?

We are tasked, to create a mask,

To hide the true you.

So many words,

Yet we choose the simple ones,

Unlike the bluebirds,

We use puns,

Rather than song,

Or feel,

We say "I am strong",

"I am steel",

We exxagerate,

Underestimate,

Arbitrate,

Avoid hate.

To describe myself would be be to trap myself,

In letters and symbols,

That may not hold true.

Who am I to say I am not an elf,

Stringing myself upon a shelf of thimbles,

Using words to hew a design,

Benign and without enough glue,

Sticking to who?

Creative,

Hyper,

Innovative viper,

There is no one like her.

Willful,

Weary,

Eerily full,

Too much knowledge.

These might catch a glimpse,

Of the soul hidden under pale skin,

Yet in an instance,

Could describe a deadly sin.

What shapes her?

Rough hands and broken hearts?

She loves with compassion those with fur,

Yet despises being an upstart.

Mind of a poet,

Hand of an artist,

Soul of a writer,

Show it!

Be the smartest!

Become a fighter!

So she does,

She follow dreams,

Remembers what was,

Writes about streams,

Loves with everything she has,

Listens closely to those she trusts,

In doing so is viewed as,

Unjust.

Who am I?

Am I strong?

Was I wrong?

Clouded with doubt, 

She is forced to shout,

Words unpleasant,

What a peasant!

And so a final verse,

Might disperse,

This poem,

Oh woe!, ahem,

From your mind,

In proper time.