I wish I wrote the way I thought,

Obsessively, incessantly, with a feeling that I was more than the sum of my parts.

All the world’s a stage,

And I’m just a girl trying to find her place.

People aren’t homes,

They are made of something much more fragile,

Paper hearts and borrowed time.

Each moment we’re given,

Feels like a chance to rewrite the script, but

Every scene seems to end in the same sad note.

I wish I could wear my thoughts on my sleeve,

Just spill them out like ink on paper.

But sometimes I feel like a character lost in a play,

Trying to remember my lines.

There are days I wish I could crawl inside myself,

And find that hidden spark,

But it’s always just out of reach,

Like a dream you can’t quite remember.

People aren’t homes,

And I keep looking for places to rest,

Places where I don’t have to pretend.

All the world’s a stage,

And I’m tired of acting,

Of putting on a brave face.

I wish I wrote the way I thought,

Because maybe then you’d understand.

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**Poems Used:**

“I Wish I Wrote The Way I Thought” by Benedict Smith

“People Aren’t Homes” by Nikita Gill

“All the world’s a stage” by William Shakespeare