Colorful Me

It's funny to think I've been called type A.

That we could label a person with letters,

put them into groups.

I'd say I don't fit characteristics of anyone else.

I'd say I could be kind and cruel, ignorant and brilliant.

My traits are all relative not definitive.

I wouldn't call myself a rainbow, 

I've got patches of gray, big patches.

But i've also got yellow, and blue, and teel, and pearl.

I'd say when I was made that I was mixed up of all things,

and that some colors just seemed to make the picture.

I'm not two faced i'm four hundred faced.

I have my soul and my morals, those things stay the same.

But who I'll be and what I'll say, I paint myself.

I'm not type A, I'm not type B, 

Hell, I'm not even type Z.

I'm the alphabet and my qualities range.

I am a hard worker who loves to relax.

I'm a kind soul who gets into fights.

I'd say that we're all just works of art being painted every day.

This poem is about: 
Me
Our world

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