What Makes Me, Me


I can't sing, lets be real. Cooking; ha, I burn every meal. I can't say im the weathiest person in town, some days my makeup resembles a clown. My hair is often a mess. You won't find me in some sparkly dress, but hey, that makes me, me. I prefer scuffed up boots. What can I say, comes from my roots. I'm from a fly over state, yes, it's true and perhaps open fields of corn don't appeal to you, but to me there's nowhere else I'd rather be; land locked tight, no signs of sea. Dirt roads stringing through the hills far and wide, this beautiful land strikes me deep inside and hey, that makes me, me. Sure I like my men crazy, working out in the sun, never lazy. Tanned, and riding a horse, my redneck cowboy of course. Listening to midnight songs, dancing on the tailgate all night long. A simple kiss to seal the night, I hug my mom before I turn out the light. Yes, this just makes me, me. I thank God for my family, I'm not afraid to tell. You don't believe in God? That's fine as well. Just be proud of who you are, that is all I'm trying to say. So you can be at peace, come the end of the day. Well you know now who I am, I hope it is no surprise, that all of this makes me, me, and that is no lie.

Guide that inspired this poem: 


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