October 20, 2011
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I'm not anything special,
I'm not perfect,
I'm not even complete in myself.

I'm a girl of many names and interests,
I'm a new person each day; just like a flower every spring when it blooms,
I’d be a liar to say im always sure of who I am.

I'm like a bird who hasn’t learned to fly,
A caterpillar not yet a butterfly,
I'm like the sun when it first appears: not yet fully bright.

I'm a confident girl outside,
Inside im tangled and twisted,
I know how to solve others problems: but who solves mine?

Vulnerable is not a term people use to describe me,
But who really knows me?
I don’t, in time I will though.

I am, myself, an unfinished book,
I'm still being written,
My life is still just a blueprint.

I’ve just gotta finish the book,
Sign the paper,
And start building me.

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Patricia012795 said...
Nov. 9, 2011 at 12:52 am
Nice poem! I especially love the ending with the book, paper, and blueprint. Thank you for sharing your work.
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