honey_bee_666

What is it that you like?
That game or sport that you adore,
Or that thing your mother asks,
That you find is such a chore.

And why is it that you like it?
Is there ever such an reason?
Is it because of the adrenaline rush,
Or because you feel the need of treason?

See there are these little things called Genes,
And little so they are,
They build who you are up close,
And they build you from afar.

They contain little pieces of information,
We call this DNA,
They tell your body what to do,
To run smoothly through the day.

But you see my question now,
Is how does it all work?
How does it tell me what to like or not,
My personalitly and my quirks?

You see my parents, they pass on traits,
Like eye colour or skin,
They pass on personalities,
And other things within.

Is what is written sent in stone,
Or do I have room to change?
Can the valley that is me,
Become a mountain range?

And if now, then why?
How did I get this way?