SHE. HER. ME.

So here I am, I guess?

Looking in this mirror and honestly, proud.Proud to be me.

Yet how do you see me?

To you I’m her.

To him I’m she.

To them I’m me.

Oh the joy’s of being perceived.

So many details left a mystery,

So many particulars cast a generalisation.

As I am forced to accept the pigeonhole in which you place me.

Nothing more than a pigeon herself, really…

Still, a proud pigeon at that. Possibly even a dove?

I choose.You simply intrude.

And that’s about it really.

What do you think?