Perfectly Imperfect Me

There was a stereotype,

I was told of,

The moment my fingers hit the keys:

Introvert.

 

There was a rule,

I learned,

As soon as my first story,

Hit the brain:

Be Quiet

 

And there was a strong emotion,

That I knew,

The first time I cried,

While writing:

Sadness

 

And after I knew these three things,

I felt disappointed,

Because I didn’t fit into any of them.

 

But you know what,

Somehow I don’t have to.

 

Because I am a writer,

And we come in all shapes and sizes,

Races and religions,

Styles and smarts.

 

And there shouldn’t be a stereotype,

When we are all wonderful.