I think I’ve looked at another’s path for long enough,
Measured their steps and sighed at how mine didn’t align,
Lost hope at how the journey varied so differently to mine
Shook my head at the thought that I was running out of time.
I think I’ve compared the petals of my roses to another
Or wept at the fact that our stems were far from the same
I’ve tried to reason why the storms over soft rain came
And tried to trim the wild bushes, so I could be tame.
I think I’ve painted another’s portrait for long enough
Compared the textures & strokes for too long
Questioned why my own rhythm didn’t sound like their song
Wondered why it felt like I never did belong .
I’ve learnt that the path & journey differed for a reason
That the roses of my own flowers would blossom in their season
That the notes & rhythm to my song were never that offbeat
That it only matter that I embraced the soul in my own feet.