Autobiography of the B

I am not what they think I am,
neither as smart
or as experienced
nor quite so worldly wise.

I am not a hero.
I am not a vampire
nor a demon nor angel.
I am mortal
and messed up
and meek too often
and too little underfed.

I could use some underfeeding
right about now.
I am not brave or resolute
or at all prepared
and I am certainly no boy scout.

I try to be good
more than evil
and kind
more than careless.
I fail far too often.
I am not a fan of failing.

I like to talk about how I was conceived in Las Vegas
and my mother loves to deny that story
but who’re you gonna believe?
She was all drunk on complimentary wine back then
– and 60s weed.

I have never smoked up
but have had
like
a thousand contact highs.
Maybe you could stop toking up so much
around me?

I like comic books
and quirky comedies
and AntiFolk
– though don’t ask me what that is,
unless you’ve got a month to kill.
I talk at length
just a little.

I’m better than most
and annoyed by those who disagree
but far too modest to ever say that
– except in rhyme.
I rarely rhyme.

I like Two Boots
and I have a short attention span
and I like Two Boots.

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