I am not perfect,

I will admit that.

But I am myself,

And that is enough.


I am perfectly flawed,

In my own strange way.

Passive yet impatient,

Both quiet and loud.

I contradict myself,

But I am still enough.


I am loved by many,

All of whom I hold dear,

They are quirky and odd,

Just like everyone else.

But they are my family,

And they’re always enough.


I am quite passionate,

And always creative.

I could live in my books,

Dreaming of far off lands.

That makes me who I am,

So that means I’m enough.


I am very blessed,

I will admit that.

For I am myself,

That’s more than enough.

This poem is about: 
My family


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