Tonight I’d like to write about how lovely it is to hear birds chirping

Or even newfound hope making its way from the distance

However, no matter how hard I try

I’m afraid I’d fail a thousand times

There’s a small voice inside spitting toxic rhymes

I may lack an abundance of qualities

What I ought to be is far from who I am

I underachieve where the average effortlessly exceeds

Not to mention the countless times my comparisons hid me from view

One thing remains to be true

All I have is this creativity

She may grow and become everything I’ve ever aspired to be

Receive applause for being a role model

But as far as this miniscule talent

She could never craft such words

Nor form the imagination I was given

Because this is mine

And the day someone pries the artistry from my hands

Is the day I die.