Mosaic

You may label me with careless words,
And brand me as eccentric and absurd,
But I am a tapestry of complexity,
A blend of traits, unique and free.

You may call me impractical,
And accuse me of materialistic whims,
Yet I seek beauty in the world around,
Blending the tangible with the ethereal sound.

Untactful and taciturn, you say,
But my silence holds wisdom and grace,
A frenzied passion within me burns,
Fueling my spirit, as the world turns.

I may seem superficial, a relentless aesthete,
With a love for all that glimmers and gleams,
But there's depth beyond the surface sheen,
An appreciation for beauty, both seen and unseen.

An aficionada of facts, polished and bright,
And a hoardess of vellichor, the scent of aged delight,
In the pages of old books, I find my solace,
In their stories and histories, I find grace.

Do not dismiss my actions as chaotic,
There's method within my varied ways,
No vagary in my objectives, no disarray,
For I navigate this world in my unique paracosm's sway.

So embrace my eccentricities, and see,
The wealth of colors that makes up me,
For I am a mosaic, a weaving of many parts,
A soul untamed, with a passionate heart. ("Mosaic") by Courtney Weaver Jr.