Though we mess up,

we are not mistakes.

We are not the choices that we make.

In our pain or loneliness, we are never left alone.

And despite how much we learn and grow,

we are never fully grown.

We are not our past,

carved in stone.

We are a blade of grass,

soon dried up and gone.

We are so temporary,

yet we are the contrary.

We are flesh and soul, fully known.

We are muscle and bone. We are not our own.