Just a Name

My eyes,
they hold my experiences.
My lips,
they hold my words.
My ears,
they hold the sounds that have helped,
and the ones that have harmed.
My fingertips,
they contain the slight callouses 
built up by the hours of violin.
My feet,
torn and blistered,
dancing for me. 
And my mind,
consisting of memories,
consisting of knowledge,
consisting of everything that makes me
me. 
I have a name,
but that is not what defines me.
My name is not what my friends 
choose to laugh with.
My name is not what my family 
chooses to love. 
My name is not who I am,
although it can be a part of me,
and it is. 
But it is not all of me.