An Ode to Myself, If I Were Myself.Mature

O, Myself!

If only a good poem only had to start like that.
Then, all of us amateurs would be able to pump out rhymes
Like a dime gumball machine.

Do those exist? Doesn't matter.
What matters is that grammar makes you sound smart
And carbs make you fatter.

Or, at least, at this point in my life, that's what I know.
Or think. What do I know  anymore? It's not like I'm 
Pink and pretty and naive anymore.

I know, for a fact, that hair is dead follicles on your head
And it's said that the hair grows even after death.
What kind of trippy shit is that?

And I've been told that we are all related,
By at least a billion atoms to Adam and Eve
(If that's what you like to know).

I don't know what I know anymore,
And science and life has made damn sure
I stay that way.

Some days I don't know who's walking
Talking and breathing in my own body.
Somebody sad and lonely.

But most of the time, I am Myself.

And that's all I know. 

The End

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