The Things I’m Not, We All Are

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First things first
I’m not a writer
There’s nothing special about my profession
Everyone writes everyday
Even when they’re not thinking about it
Communicating information is centuries old
What makes me so bold
To share it with the world
Is the power and passion that flows
Inside these veins, borne of a brain
Taught to hate the plain, chase the days
Long into the night, resting only
Once I’m on top of the pile
Second things second
I’m not a poet
Speaking powerful words that inspire
There’s nothing special about that
People do that everyday, even when
They don’t know they are
Doctors, nurses, police officers
Bringing forth life with a touch
That’s real power
That’s real change
What makes me so bold
To share it with the world
Is the emptiness I find in breath
The space between our eyes
So many humans are dead, rotting inside
And it’s up to us to bring them back
Inside these veins, borne of a brain
Taught by guilt, molded by pain
Never ready to give up, I get up again
Last things last
Writing doesn’t make me a writer
Powerful images doesn’t make me a poet
None of these things define me
Because humans create powerful images
Humans write words of love and peace
So I guess
I’m just human
I guess
We’re all human

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