Beating around the Bush

I don't know where I am. Well, If I am lost does that mean I am somewhere? If lost is some type of parallel universe where misfit things go then I guess im not really lost I am found. Found in a band of misfits, over thinkers, over lovers, and life not livers. Misfits is what we become branded maybe because we are not the, red, or blue in the crayon box. We are the turquoise, the salmon, the magenta. The colors that stand out the most, and even though we are beautiful, people seem to stick to the regular blues and greens because it is what they are used to. Love us too, there are only some artists in life that are truly able to show our beauty, and until we are found, we are still alone. Be bright, even though you are not like someone else be bold, in who you are, never beat around the bush, be straightforward, and let each brush and stroke you make in life show. You are different, but instead of that making you strange, let it make YOU. Why? Because we MAKE the crayon box.

This poem is about: 
Me

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741