Mistaken Identity

On Monday I’m an artist, splattered paint all on my clothes,
Trying to capture heart and soul envisioned in one pose.
On normal days I keep an eye for treasures yet unseen,
And embody passion in a work that tells you what they mean.

On Tuesday I’m a poet, sitting at some lone café,
Reaching for the deeper thoughts I’m desperate to convey.
Transporting reader to a world of possibilities,
And daring all to journey past self imposed realities.

On Wednesdays you are not quite sure of my identity,
For that is when my soul’s enraptured in my photography.
If a picture’s worth a thousand words I must be sure they tell,
Of passion, dreams, and all the things that I love so well.

On Thursday I’m a musician with a pen behind one ear,
Struggling to release the melodies that only I can hear.
Guitar in hand, and probing for the meaning found in song,
And knowing if I keep them locked it would truly be wrong.

On Friday I’m the author of the drama words reveal.
My mind, penetrated with all humanity can feel.
But I am not always the same, you can not look at me,
And judge me in one class alone with one category.

I’m a painter, and musician, a poet and once more,
I am every inch desire of what I am searching for.
Cameras and soft melodies only help my heart to tell,
A message, a goal for all to inspire and compel.

There is a secret in each soul, within every heart beat,
It’s the truer definition in the people that you meet.
And if you learn to see past the simple identity,
You’ll find the truth, eternal hope of possibility.

And if you judge, based on one thing, you miss the entirety.
For no one thing that we are, makes up who we can be.
So if you find yourself the judge of personality,
Be careful lest you find a case of mistaken identity.

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