I’m like a piece of paper, just like you.
I’ve been brought into this world, not by choice but by someone else.
I am living a life with scars from my past.
Scars that do not change my potential to become anything; an illustration, a crane, a plane or anything else that is no less than extraordinary.
Scars that show that I have lived a life that is different from the one that you have lived.
Yet you do nothing but paint me into the vision of your prejudice.