I used to wish I was someone else.
Someone with confidence with no fears.
Capable of pitch perfect notes,
Delicate brush strokes over canvas.
And aptness to conquer any court.
But that will never become me.
I am insecure, and anxious.
My vocal range is nonexistent
All my books are filled with abstract sloppy sketches
And I trip over myself daily
I am flawed, I am imperfect, and I am simply me.