I'm not very good at poetry,
or expressing myself.
I don't always say the right thing,
or anything at all.
Not everybody likes me,
or thinks about me.
My name isn't known by the world,
or reblogged all the time.
I'm not really the best at everything,
or anything really.

But, I'm me.
And to some people that's not good enough.
But, To me,
Its all I really have.

All I really have is myself.
I may not be famous.
I may not be rich.
I may not be a supermodel.
But I'm me.
And that's all I need.

I'm not a poet
I shouldn't claim the like
Because a poet would know more
About struggle and strife
While I myself lay my head on a bed
Some poets stay up all night
Driving home their nails
Into the coffin of conviction
How dare I say I'm impaled.
While others wrote beautifully on social issues or on love
I sit and stare at the wall
I churn out writings on things such as white struggles and heartache
I'll write about the same boy over and over again with a different ad lib.
I'll write about voices in minds I can't reach or begin to comprehend
So tell me how I'm a poet, again?
Because I can write a line and hit an enter key
I somehow think I'm a cool *** thing.
Nah man, I'm not a poet
I'm a wannabe

She is made up of words that not anyone can understand;
Her mind is a dictionary of sadness and heartache,
And her heart is a poetry book for the hopeless.
She is the prettiest song,
The perfect sonnet,
The most meaningful haiku,
And the longest novel.
It takes a while to read her,
Seconds to love her,
And a lifetime to forger her.

You are
Not defined by a number
On a scale or on a card.
Not the likes on social media,
Nor what the world thinks you are.

You are
The pain in all your teardrops,
The laugh in every smile.
The times you failed but tried again,
The hope in every sigh.
You're found
In people whom you love,
And the ones who love you too.
In memories you hold so close-
In light, in love, and truth.
There's you
In that which you call home,
Where home embraces you;
Where you store your hopes and dreams,
And pain and sorrow too.
There's you
In all that you regret,
In the shame you hide away;
But remember that all that has
Made you who you are today.

I've found
This world has one huge flaw:
It speaks lies, proclaiming truth;
It's poisoned you to think that you
Can be measured, made, and used.

So darling I pray you'll see today:
True beauty lies within.
Don't let yourself define you by
Numbers or cuts on your skin.

You are
More than my words can ever say;
There's so much to a heart
More than the world will understand-
There's more to who
You are.

-c.t.

Walking and walking
I turn around and said
To myself. We're am I going "To"
Or coming "from "
Then I realised how far I have come
And how far I will still go.
What a journey I have embarked on
"The journey of life "
A journey where by I know not what lies ahead on my path.
A journey full of trouble,pains,ups and downs, good and bad all in the existence of the human race.

A bird flies free across the brook;
From springs of life it sips.
It paints its name across the skies;
Beyond the clouds it dreams.

On the ground in a small cage,
Is another, sitting still.
With eyes raised, its longing stirs
For a life confinement kills.

Yes, oft I wonder why free birds
Do not echo songs as loud:
As birds sitting within bars-
Their songs stir sleep about.

The seasons change, we learn with time
From people met and crossroads walked;
And with every newfound sigh,
Are whom that hear and whom do not.

I know now why the caged bird sings
As the world dreams at night:
'Tis the song of hope and dreams
That sparks its song inside.

For when from ash caged birds rise,
And when their wings they finally spread,
Each sacred savour of wind beneath
Is sweetest honey in most cherished *****.

And upon its journeys it listens still:
For only they can understand
What cries all free birds fail to hear
And frees those caged once like them.

-c.t.