If I Were Not Me

I wonder if I were not me,
What else I could be,
A flower among the thorns,
Or a quiet summer tree.
A lonely artist's brush,
Or someone's first crush.
Maybe I could be a guitar,
Or a wish granting star.
Rain shower in summer noon,
A child's amaze, a balloon.
Roaring like an ocean's tide,
A quiet tear of a new bride.
What if I be your smile,
Resting on your lips for awhile.
Or what if I be in your heart deep?
Will you mind me to forever keep?

She is Poetry

Poetry doesn't have to rhyme.
I am not perfect,
neither you nor anyone.
She is not perfect either.
But she is poetry.
And she doesn't rhyme.
But then again,
poetry doesn't have to rhyme.