What does it mean to be me?

Am I really just me?

Or am I a mosaic

Of all the people

I have ever known?

How do we know

If we are truly unique,

When we are surrounded

Constantly, by a flood

Of many people

Is the way that I wave

When I see a friend,

Just like my Kindergarden friend

When she saw me each morning

And just wanted to play?

Is my laugh all my own,

Or is it just all made up

Like a mix of my cousins

And friends

When they make me smile?

Do I read all the time,

Just because I like it?

Or is it from my teacher

Who would read with me

When I was sad?

What about cupcakes,

The best are vanilla.

Is that really my preference,

Or just because they were

The ones my best friend always picked?

Why did I stop my favourite show,

I watched it every day.

Was it really because I grew up?

Or because the girl I hated loved it,

And I just didn’t want to be like her?

What if I’m not truly me,

And I’m just a mosaic

Of all the people I’ve ever met,

The good ones,

But also the bad?