I am not graceful,
I am not good.
I stumble over words
when I’m speaking.
I take too long thinking of
what to say,
and sometimes what comes out
isn’t right.
I dream too much and live
away from reality,
using ink and pen as
my ultimate escape.
I cry too much and smile
too little;
I yell when I’m excited and
shut up when I’m mad;
I never seem to find the right
balance of anything.
I am not perfect;
if only perfection
was an easy
poem to write.