Do I want to see myself as
others see me—
an annoying old white guy?
I’d rather see than be me.
But I’m my own best bestie:
I’m cute, and I’m eight miles high.
I’d rather not hear myself as others hear me
just another dreary
droner. Why
on earth would you want to read me?
But I’ll lay claim to the catbird seat—
my attic swivel-chair, with the southern sky
beaming on my belly and my carpe
diem feet. Talk about a
striptease!
Never thought I’d be so lucky:
I can both see and be me.
Must I submit to orthodoxy?
Maybe I’m obnoxious, but I’m happy,
choosing not to see myself as others see me.
I’ll be what I see!
