I am not the perfect child.

I am not everything

everyone expects me to be.

I can not do everything

everyone expects me to do.

 

I am not my “best work.”

I am not my GPA

I am not my test scores

I am not my weight.

I am not defined by success,

boxes, or numbers.

 

My parents

do not own me

I am not defined

by boys

or any lack thereof.

 

I am not my stress.

I am not my sadness

that comes from working

every waking minute

And still not making

certain people proud.

 

I will not be my job.

I will not be my salary.

I will be happy.

 

I am my feelings.

I am my photography.

I am those perfect,

infinite nights.

I am alive.

I am art.

I am made

of dreams

and shooting stars.

I am part of the world;

Insignificant,

and eternally important.