I find meaning in the air that I breathe; <br />It is food for the flowers. <br />And meaning in my footsteps <br />that bring death to spiders. <br />In my hands is money for poor beggars, <br />In my head is a realm of questions and answers. <br />Every part of me is the holder of some small fate. <br />I wasn't thrown together on a whim. <br />My existence carries a lot of weight. <br />Who is anyone to call me a blank slate?<br /><br />Bianca Free<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/blank-slate-2/
