You can write for hours and hours,
Of all the things you wish you can be.
But the truth of the matter is simple,
People are not poetry.
I know you wish you weren’t weird,
That sweet words can roll off your tongue.
But time here is too short to worry,
How each single sentence is strung.
It’s okay to be rough around the edges,
To be broken and scarred.
Though it’s not okay tell let people tell you,
That you should change who you are.
Your posture doesn’t need to be regal and placed very neatly,
The way this poem is neatly in this line.
And sometimes...sometimes you feel like a word,
That no one has learnt to define.
You might not be the star that brightens the dark,
Or a bird that can teach us to soar.
No problem, you’re too complex,
To be crammed in one metaphor.
It’s fine to not know what you’re doing,
Your feelings don’t have to all rhythm.
Though a poem complete is eternal,
You have freedom to change over time.
All this poem is saying,
And not to confuse,
be who you are….in any direction you choose.