You can write for hours on hours
Of all the things you wish you could be
But the truth of matter is simple
People are not poetry.
And I know you wish you weren’t awkward
That sweet words could roll right of your tongue,
But your time’s here is too short to worry
How each single sentence is strung.
It’s okay to be rough round the edges
To be bruised up and broken and scared
But it’s not okay to let people tell you
That’s it’s the reason to change who you are.
Your hairs doesn’t always sit this neatly,
The way a poem sits so neatly in line
And sometimes you might feel like a word
That nobody has learned to define.
You may not be the star that lights up darkness
Or a bird that can teach us to soar
But it’s okay, because you are too complex
To be cramped up in one metaphor .
Its okay not to know what you are doing
Since your feeling don’t have to all rhyme
Though a poem once complete is eternal,
But you have the freedom to change over time .
You are much more than can be ever written,
There is no title to say “this is me”.
You can’t be trapped in the lines of notebook
Because people are not poetry.