Sorry.

Dear myself.

Oh how we live without a will to.

Live by the "I can't" and regretful "will do's".

Stop to examine the terrain,

to feel our toes on the mildew.

 

How we complete one another;

Isn't that fantastic?

Half a sister, half a brother;

The ranges just as drastic.

 

Love me or hate me,

we're binded together.

My two halves of me,

are birds of a feather.

 

Concern and careless,

Lazy and restless.

 

Oil and water.

Salt and butter.

 

Dear myself.

Thank you.

This poem is about: 
Me

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