How many times have I
just been a line
scrapped on a page?
I am more than ink,
blue stains of pain
on some thrown sheet.
I have skins and bones,
eyes that see,
and a mind that knows
that I am not that bundle
of metaphors and smilies,
tossed about with pronouns,
ifs, whens, has beens.
I'm not the flat print out
captured by some lens.
Don't even try to entwine me
in song lines,
I'm a person, with desires
fears, addictions, lies.
I'm just like everyone else
showing the better half
of two sides.
So this is me telling you
I'm tired
of being something that inspires
I'm tired of part of me
being in your notebooks, yours.
I'd much rather
be a human being.