Identity’s like a mystery,
A big question mark.
It’s not just about the colour of my skin,
It’s about stuff I find significant.
My experiences shaped who I am,
The people I met, the places afar,
They aided me by finding my place,
With their help, I keep up the pace.
I am like stitchery,
Woven from the memories afloat,
The affection I share and get,
And the lessons I learn as I set by.
I won’t rely on others to find my path,
I’ll trust my own feet to move forward,
And won’t fear the aftermath.
I’ll be proud on who I am,
And let my unique identity blossom within my fare.
