I was told to write a poem,
To tell you who I am,
but when I started writing,
A blank, I was condemned.
So I gripped my pen tightly
Began to draw instead,
and before I even knew it,
A drawing, I spied ahead.
There was something peculiar,
about that stroke today,
for when I lifted up my pen,
Something it did say.
"This is you!" It screamed at me,
"Don't let them tell you otherwise,"
I stopped to ponder a moment,
What could that, to me, advise?
Finally I found it,
one sleepless, dreary night,
Each and every line and word,
Is something not to contrite.
So next time someone says to you,
Your work is nothing to be proud of,
Remember that no matter what,
It is something you should love.
Maybe one night you'll think of how,
The past was something good.
Without any of those mistakes
You never would have understood
As time goes by and you get better,
You can think a bit of me,
and how I once was just like you
trying too hard to see.
I was told to write a poem
to tell a little about me
but when I finished writing
It was all about who you can be.
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Submission Name: About Me
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