It is 9 am-
I am a ball of nervous energy.
I am a capsule of words, begging to be unearthed.
I am the best of friends with paper and pen-
I am intelligence redefined, using standards that are mine and not manifested by any test or traditional norms.
I am creativity- explosive and ever ready.
I am a master plan that cannot be duplicated, though jealousy has many wishing they could immitate me.
I am beautiful.
I am successful.
I am rich with more than just money; my soul is comparable to milk and honey.
I am enough.
I am a complete sentence and to demand more of an explanation is an injustice to me.
I am a black queen- my rich herritage a thing people of not so long ago tried to destroy.
I am the drums, beat upon by my ancestors.
I am me.
I am a poem.
I am poetry.