I am who I am, and that is that.

I am who I am, and that is that.

The ink is set, the page is dry,
I do not craft a soft reply.
I wear my thoughts like open seams,
The loud conductor of my dreams.

I do not sugarcoat the sting,
Or clip the feathers from the wing.
What dances on the tip of tongue
Is where my honest truth is hung.

I am the storm, I am the drought,
The voice that rises, spilling out.
Unfiltered, sharp, and unapologetic,
My rhythm is a wild, kinetic.

I am not cast in molding clay,
To wither in a milder way.
So take the weight of who I am,
Ignore the roar, or join the jam.

The mirror shows a steady gaze,
No scripted lines, no hidden maze.
The wall is built, the door is shut—
I am who I am, and that is that.