You can write for hours on hours, Of all the things that you wish you could be, But the truth of the matter is simple, People are not poetry, And I know that you wish you weren't awkward, That sweet words could roll right off your tongue, But your time here's too short just to worry, How each single sentence is strung, It's okay to be rough round the edges, To be bruised up and broken an scarred, But it's not okay to let people tell you, That it's a reason to change who you are, Your hair doesn't always sit neatly, The way a poem sits so neatly in lines, and sometimes you might feel like a word, That nobody has learnt to define, You might not be a star that lights darkness, Or a bird that can teach us a soar, Bit it's okay because you are too complex, To be crammed into one metaphor, It's okay not to know what you're doing, Since your feelings don't have to all rhyme Though a poem once complete is eternal, You have the freedom to change over time, You're much more than can ever be written, There is no title to say, "That Is Me", You can't be trapped in the lines of a notebook, Because people are not poetry. ~ 𝒆.𝒉
𝑬𝒓𝒊𝒏 𝑯𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒐𝒏.
