If someone asked her to describe herself,
She would pause,
And think.
She was a metaphor,
A poetic “mistake,”
An ever changing piece of art,
And a girl.
But she could not say that,
Because why make a picture with words,
And change herself into a carbon copy,
If she was only to change again?
Last week she loved Adele,
This week she loves Coldplay,
Today her favorite color is emerald,
But tomorrow it will be different.
Today she writes sad poetry,
But tomorrow it could be mellow,
Or mad.
Why describe herself,
And try to be that girl,
When she doesn’t know who she is?
She is ever changing,
Trying to find the right smile,
The right clothes,
And the right girl to be.
And when she knows who she is,
She still won’t say anything,
Because life is full of change,
And a lot can happen in a day.
Perfectly Imperfect Me 