Are I...

Paper cranes are flying around
Fluttering in the breeze.
The smell of raisen toast
Buttered to perfection.
The click of a mechanical pencil
The glimse of a robin
The wish of me.
The wishes of me.
Are I someone who is unique and common
Or normal and weird?
Are I me or you or a mixture of what I wish
Or am I out of my hands?
What if my skeloton jumped out of my body and roamed this place?
No.
That wouldn't be.
I like me.
I like me too much for I to jump out of me.
I like my hair.
It tangles
It wrangles
It make's me scream in frustration
But it's I.
I like my skin
It's filled with imperfections
And bit's
But it's I.
I like my eyes
Dark
Rich soil brown
A bit tired around the edges
And a bit arragent.
But it's I.
I like me,
Yes,
But I prefer I.
Purple hair is me
But I like mine
Dark and pale.
Smooth and firm skin is me
But I like mine's mocha shade.
Changing and twisting eyes
That you can't pin down,
Is me,
But I like mine.
I just do.
To not like I is tiring
And it makes me a bit sadder.
To like I is to bring in some light
To dust off my happiness
To brag about my me.
My me is my I,
Not an image of art.
Not a sound of art.
Not a thing of art.
Not a word of art.
Not a piece of art.
My I is me and I like it.
You is not me
Yours is not mine
You are not I.
Don't try to become another's I
Don't try to become another's me
Don't try to become another's;
Try and become an I
Or a me
Or maybe both.
Don't be a you.
Be an I.
Are I to be a you?
No.
I am an I.
You are a you.
You are not I
I are not you.
I am I.
I like I.
I am me.
So do it.
You be you.
I'll be I.
I'm waiting.
Good luck.