No object defines me: Not on its own or in concert with any number.

My friends show the type of company I keep, but they are not who I am – or who I want to be.

It may be good; it may be sinful – and while it may be true – what others think of me doesn’t define who I am.

The intentions behind my actions and the things I connect with – shape my interaction in the present,

but it does not define me.

Why is there a need?

What purpose is served?

Undefine me.