Mores

We are more
than the home we were born into,
the one she left to make love to another man,
and the one that was no longer there when he came back after the war.
We are more than our name and all its mocking middle school derivatives.
We are more than our zip code and bank balance, that grade point average and our age, and the weight on the scale in the morning.
We are more than the standards we never reached and the applause we never heard.
We are more than the days we spend working and the nights we spend waking.
We are more than the money we never had and the sums we spent anyway.
We are more than our drunk decisions and our sober helplessness.
We are more than the scars we hide and the ones we cut, deep into the flesh.
We are more than the promises we never kept and the ones we wish we’d made.
We are more than the questions we didn’t ask and the lies we told instead.
We are more than the languages we don’t speak, like Apology and Love.
We are more than our guilty silences.
We are more than the things we hate and know nothing about, like those neighbors, like God.
We are more than the memories that fade so fast and the future we fear.
We are more than our dreams and all failed iterations of them.
We are more than our parts,
even than their sum,
even than their sum times experience and revelation.

We are more,
and we are always enough
to someone.