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You can write for hours on hours,
Of all the things 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 could roll off your tongue,
But your time here is too short just to worry how each single sentence is strung.
Its okay to be rough round the edges,
To be bruised up, broken, and scarred.
But its not okay to let people tell you,
That its a reason to change who you are,
Your hair doesn't always sit neatly,
The way poems sit so neatly in lines.
And sometimes you might feel like a word,
That nobody hauls learnt to define.
You might not be a star that lights darkness,
Or a bird that can teach us to soar.
But its okay, because you are too complex.
To be crammed in one metaphor.
Its okay to not know what you're doing.
Since your feelings don't have to all rhyme .
Though a poem once complete is eternal.
You have the freedom to change over time.
You are much more than can ever be written.
There is no title to say "this is me"
You cannot be trapped in the lines of a notebook.
People are not poetry.

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