I am not my hair, my eyes, my nose or my mouth.
I am not my skin or the shape of any of my body parts.
I am not the IQ of my brain.
I am not the sound of my voice or the volume of my laughter.
I am not my strengths or any of my weaknesses.
I am not the level of my skills.
The temple of my physical makeup is a culmination of genetics.
It reveals nothing about the person who resides within.
I take no credit or point no blame for the way I look.
My temple is perfect, as is.
This body is not who I am.
It is an exquisitely perfect dwelling for my soul.
Everything about it is exactly as it should be.
No other, anywhere, ever, could serve my soul as well.
I am not anything you can see
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