End Of Me

If I could think of nothing clever to say
or nothing witty to write,
would that be the end of me?
If I could think of nothing kind to do
or nothing to be happy about,
would that be the end of me?
Are my words and deeds so much apart of me
that if they ceased, I do as well?
Are my thoughts and disposition so much apart of me
that if they ceased, I do as well?
Maybe I'm more than those combined.
Maybe I'm more than meets the eye.
For I am body and spirit.
For I am strength and weakness
Of the many things I am
and for the many things I am not,
I am unique.
I am me.