Sitting under a tree,

“I think”, I thought, “I’ll write an ode,

To me.”

So I began with the words “Ode to me”

And continued writing furiously.

What I never foresaw I couldn’t foresee,

I know too much about me.

The words flew out, and I felt a pain,

On this world I am just a stain.

There is no reason for me to stay,

I think I might just go away.

Revelations from my self and soul

I realized my life had no goal.

As I continued writing I read my work,

To everyone, I’ve just been a jerk.

I mistook my flaws and thought them quirks.

But nobody laughed, nobody smirked.

Nobody got it, except myself,

I’m only another statistic to be put on the shelf.

Write me off and set me up;

Right next to that old water cup.

Only to be forgotten as that glass had been;

I hope you’ll remember me time and again.

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