Where do I come from?

What a simple question, but so hard to answer

Do I come from the tramas or the hurt?

Or from the names the others had drawn up for me?

Or possibly from the nights where I felt like my word was in flames?

No, 

Could I possibly define myself from that?

Would I dare?

Maybe I could define myself from the great things

Like smarts or creativity

No, that felt wrong too

Because if I chose to define myself by the great things

Did all the hurt mean nothing?

Why was this a question so hard to answer?

Maybe I’ll define myself by the growth

From the flowers that had learned to bloom in such hard conditions

From the heart that continued to beat while no blood was to flow

From the journey I had take by myself 

The journey that had only led me to the new me

A better me, 

The one I chose to define myself by.