I’m not made of sugar and spice,
My backbone was not forged by fire,
I am not my father's rage nor my mothers shames.
I don’t do the whole fire and ice.
I am not my ancestors from their funeral pyre,
I am soul, flesh, and bone despite the claims.
This is my first time doing life,
I feel it all, your sticks, your stones, your knife.
I stumble and fall,
but here I am, up despite,
and to my own delight.