My Freedom of Recollections

My Freedom of Recollections I am not original I am just an open book I am noticeable because I am simple I grow weary of what to think I seldom find any faults When I do find fault It is I Not the person who I see Because I am the only one judging at that moment I look into my deepest memories And it always was what I saw that made who I am What I hear What I smelled What I touch What I felt It was not a book It was not any other person It was just the experience Being held That was me Held sincerely It all went gone My peace that was lost And now was found Where do you think these things come from? What value it holds A touch with a simple hand A kiss on a cheek A whisper of kindness in the ear It was not for sure my older siblings It was not for sure the adopted parents The recollection of this was sooner The recollection was more than brighter The protection was there But the intimate demand disappeared The value it holds so unclear Moments, minutes, hours, days, and years It all comes to one special feeling To exist Is to be kind Is to be happy Is to know faults Is to be your self Is to value Each and everything around you This is life My recollection is life No other way nor other people can change my recollection