Look: this is me.
A little parcel of sometimes…
Ambiguity.
A book uneasily read,
But open to examination.
Someone who,
All things aside,
Can be brave, but also hides;
I care and I share
But not always,
And with me you’ll know both
Rays of sun
And sheets:
of rainy days.

Mornings I’ll expect you there,
Sleepy, but still aware;
Conscious of this woman who
Chooses to make her bed with you.
When she lies, forgive her not;
And when she tries
Forget her not.

Look: she is your now,
And your next, and your last.
The one before
You remember still
And the lessons learned
Are valid still.
But here and now
I am she. This is me:
A child too-
But more than that,
(today, at least)
… a part of you.

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