What my day is filled with
Seems so often to be
Nothing of significance
Although I know better
I feel so many things
Most of all an urge to obsess
And wonder why I am not higher
Functioning
My life nearly half over
If I am lucky
What have I become
Who have I become
…is it something to be proud of?
So many think of me so fondly
So they say
So it would seem
That it is true
Why do I not see what they see
I know too much
Or too little - not enough
I am not humble
Just ignornt
I keep searching
But my attention span is short
For things I do not enjoy
Realities, flaws and truth
The mirror
I face it
I see so many vying for attention
A young woman and old woman
A teenaged boy
A crying baby
A clown, a sloth, a monster and a fairy
What will I do with this information I gather
It has been done already
The End
