I am not defined by the callouses on my hands or the depth of my scars For I contain multitudes. I refuse to be dimmed or dampened The growing mould will suffocate me from the inside out Please let me breathe. And how can your soul be valued, measured, If not by the tone of your voice when you speak into the mirror? Desperate for the deepest parts of yourself to level at the surface Pleading. But you are more than what you see with your eyes More than your skin, your scars, your bitten nails and broken bones You are the coal in the earth, the stars in the sky The light in the dead of night You contain multitudes.