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