Just A Picture

So my picture wasn't perfect

and I couldn't understand why

the perfect people were happy.

Neither was my picture shattered,

torn to pieces and scattered and burned.

My picture was just a picture

a little worn and a little messy.

I couldn't relate to the perfects and

their lines so clean and colors so neat

but when I tried with the broken

they looked and scoffed.

“At least you have lines to color in

and your frame is sturdy,

you have colors other than

black or blue or purple or gray.

So what if it's messy

and a little beat up?

That's better than most of us.

Go to your picture perfect life!”

And there I stood unwanted by either

Feeling the need to apologize

for the fact that I'm not perfect

for the fact that I'm not broken

for the fact that I…

am just me.