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.