Being me


The art of being me
is not an art
To be me
it takes practice
and many mistakes
Every day
As wrinkles deepen
and gray takes over
I shall perfect the art of being me

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One thought on “Being me

  1. Very nice and thought-provoking. At 32 I felt like I had finally grown up to be who I was. But now, at 58, I know that was only baby stuff. I’m better, deeper and more solid me each day.

    Thanks for the poem. 🙂

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