I Chose Who I Am

There were years I let the past speak for Me. Bore the weight of things I didn’t choose. Let the old story write the next chapter. Like I had no say in what I’d lose. But somewhere between the pain and the morning. I found a line I hadn’t crossed before. The line that said, “This is where it happened. Not where I live anymore.” I can carry it without becoming it. I can know where I’ve been and still choose Where I’m going. I am not what happened to me. I am what I do with it now. I choose who I am. I choose who I am. Every scar has a name but not a sentence. Every fall was a road, not the end. I choose who I am. I always could. I just had to begin. People said, “You’re made of where you come from.” Like the start is the whole story written out. But I’ve seen people rewrite everything. Without erasing what they’re about. So I kept what made me stronger. Left the rest where it belongs. Not running from the person that I was. Just building something more. I— I can carry it without becoming it. I can know where I’ve been and still choose Where I’m going. I am not what happened to me. I am what I do with it now. I choose who I am. I choose who I am. Every scar has a name but not a sentence. Every fall was a road, not the end. I choose who I am. I always could. I just had to begin. I am not what happened to me. I am what I do with it now. I choose who I am. I choose who I am. Every scar has a name but not a sentence. Every fall was a road, not the end. I choose who I am. I always could. And I choose it again. I am not what happened. I am what comes Next.