Perfect

Perfect

 

I can act.

I can follow a dance.

I can hold a tune.

I can draw.

I can write.

 

I feel like I am never enough.

 

I have a roof over my head.

I have food in my stomach.

I have friends.

I have both of my parents in the same house as me.

 

I cry at night.

 

I am the youngest.

I am in principal's honor roll.

I am going to college.

 

I have to work for everything I want.

 

I worry about others before I do myself.

I worry that I will fail in life and not meet the expectations that I have for myself, and that others have for me.

 

I know things are not as they appear.

Everyone has their own sense of pain and that makes them who they are.

The struggles that I have faced lead to the obsticles that I have and will over come.

The people that have died, moved, cried, lost their way, fallen and burned

Are also the people that inspired, started new, dried their tears, straightened themselves back out, picked themesleves up and survived.

I am perfect, not for who I am. But for who I know that I am meant to be.

This poem is about: 
Me
My community

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