eye my me trees

i don't expect you to understand;

understand—you are not me. 

you are not six seven three

one one four fifty,

chipped finger nails and did you see

what i did to that tree?

did you see what i did?

did you?

 

no, you didn't, and

that's okay. 

i write me, not who you see,

or who i want to be,

or my future degree. 

education! i practice

self taxidermy; 

losing keys;

drinking tea;

personality—

i'm type b, infp, who, me?

 

see me but don't

see me; have some coffee. 

sit down, let's guarantee,

i'll see you if you see trees. 

six seven three one one four fifty. 

i drive by these numbers 

on the way to school, and

understand: it's that easy. 

This poem is about: 
Me

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741