Cookies 

I used to want to be normal This idea of normal 

This idea my parents put in me 

Society put in me… 
But I don’t think there is a normal 

There are cookie cutters 

Then there’s me 

Cut from my own cookie dough 

With rainbow sprinkles and colored sugar 
Me 

Who doesn’t fit the cookie cutter 
Me who doesn’t feel like everyone else 

Or think like everyone 

Or act 

Or dress 

Or do things the way we were told 
I’m a weird sort of cookie shape

A borderline cookie 

A cookie with a thousand stories 

A thousand cracks 

A thousand scars 

I’m an emotional cookie 

I see things in black and white 

I don’t follow the rules 

I do things at my own pace 

I’m a bit of a broken cookie 

Sometimes bits of me crumble 

I’m not afraid or ashamed of it 

Because I’m not like the others 
If I was like the others 

I’d be boring 

I wouldn’t feel the beauty and the tragedy 

I wouldn’t see it either 

I would be like the rest 

Where’s the fun in that? 
So

I don’t want to be normal 

I just want to be me 

A weird

Rainbow sprinkled and sugared cookie 

Not like the rest… 
-B. 

9-19-17