You are not a song.
You don’t walk with the gait of a melody,
your words are not lyrics that serenade the sea.
You are not a poem.
You don’t know the lines to calm the storm,
you can’t find the rhyme to keep the frightened warm.
You are not a story.
You don’t flow like the pensive word,
your chapters don’t convey a message to the wondering world.
You are not a painting.
Your colors don’t dance within the light,
you do not keep the romantics up at odd hours of the night.
You are not a painting or a poem,
you are neither a story nor a song,
but you’ve been wishing to be something that beautiful for so, so very long.
You are person.
Nothing less and nothing more,
You cannot be a god that the Earth will bow before.
You are a human.
And if that’s not enough for you,
you must not see yourself in the same way that I do.
