Self-Titled

I was just about to snuggle under the covers very early this morning, knowing if I feel asleep at that exact moment I could at least get 5 hours of sleep....yikes. Anyway, I realized as I sank deep into my pillows that I had to have a speech, any speech or poem for my voice and articulation TODAY. whoopsies! So, I threw the covers off and got out a pen and paper. I knew it could be two minutes in length, so I just started writing. It took me ten minutes, but then it got my mind swimming, and I couldn't sleep, go figure. Self Titled ------------ I am me. My names do not define me; I define my names. I make mistakes I live, I laugh, I learn. As a young child I was free to be me, and just assumed everyone would go along with it. I learned quickly as I became awekward and ordinary. Someone should have told me that mediocrity would have been easier for others to swallow then always trying to find more ways to be extraordinary. Many nights of tear-stained sleeplessness. Never quite understanding that happy clowns have bad days, too. I gained my wings; cut free from my roots. Only to learn that without roots one cannot grow. Alone with myself, I begin to open doors and sweep floors in a heart aged beyond its years; ragged and worn like the hands of an old man who worked in the field all of his days. A veil is lifted and new hope is able to breathe, as the Gardener picks up the tiny rosebud He notices lying on the ground, in the midst of His glorious garden. "Your time will come", He says, "With you, I am not done." So, here I sit, a canvas half-painted, a rosebud unfolding, with roots and wings. I am not done.