With no filter, I am me.
Me is I, and I is she.
She is me, and I love me.
Me is amazing at listening to others.
She loves to borrow clothes that are my mother’s.
I is the one that eats food that is her brother’s.
She believes nothing good comes easy,
Except delivery pizza that is super cheesy.
Life isn’t a Covergirl ad. It isn’t breezy.
I is a firm believer in the power of milk,
But me does not enjoy the feel of silk.
You, reader, may not like my kind of ilk,
But I am the author so hear me out.
Ew, all those rhymes, you’re thinking, me know without a doubt.
She ain’t liking your stupid pout.
Me without a filter is quite crazy,
She without school can be considerably lazy.
I’d much rather be out picking a fine yellow daisy.
This poem is wonderfully odd,
Y’all should applaud.
Her filter does not block God,
He is my life, my everything, my all,
Cause he’s all we got on this bouncing ball,
And in the scheme of things, we’re smaller than small.
Her favorite shoes are my blue and purple Chacos.
I get diarrhea from most types of tacos.
Me love me some nice, cozy sock-o’s.
My cell phone is her life,
When the battery dies, there is certain to be strife.
I wouldn’t be fine being a trophy wife.
But in the end, the filter is there,
We see things that we should not share.
I try to block out the world with a stare.
But sometimes, you just have to let them in.
Be true to you, and you will win.
That is all I have to say. Fin.