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 you wish you weren't awkward,
That sweet words easily rolled right off your tongue,
But your time here's too short just to worry,
How each individual sentence is strung,
It's okay to be rough around the edges,
To be bruised up and broken and scarred,
But it's not acceptable 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 yet or learned to define,
You might not be a star that lights the darkness,
Or a bird that can teach us to soar,
But it's alright because you are too complex,
To be crammed into one simple metaphor,
It's okay not to know what you're doing,
Since your feelings don't all have to 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,
And there is no title to say, "This Is Me",
You can't be trapped in the lines of a notebook,
Because people are not poetry.