If you found that you were me
You’d be undoubtedly confused.
You wouldn’t know how to row
Against the currents that you know.
You’d want to write a book
And pen a witty tome
Or maybe be a crook
And steal an island home.
But every time your eyes
Fall on the thing you prize
A whiff of something new
Lights another fire in you.
Does all this chaos worry you?
Or does the upheaval excite you?
Would you rather this the storm?
Or have it be the norm?
Either way is fine
‘Cause it’s not you;
It’s me.
posted by cue. @ 10:27 AM
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