The real me

I’ve never been accused 

of being fashionable. 

My hair has always been 

too unruly, 

my taste in clothing 

a little too comfortable.
I like eating, 
a little too much for a perfect figure,

And laugh way too loud 

at my own jokes.

I cry at commercials 

and blush at the drop of a hat.
I feel deeply

and have volume control issues

But what you see is usually 

what you get.

I’ve tried ever since 

my first report card

To pay attention and not interrupt, 

to be a little more shy and retiring 
But the closer I get to forty 

the more I know that this is me

For better or worse,

For richer or poorer. 

My filter may be a little broken, 

But my heart works just fine.

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