I gave up on wondering who I am
I've always been me and haven't changed much
and yet I've been many different persons
what connection between the me I was
and the me I am and how does
the subjectivity of other's view me
yolk us together?
do they who remember me at 14
recognize humbled 62?
do they even care except for spite
and malicious gossip to fill up their boredom?
shall I put my face on a milk carton?
shall I leave cryptic clues under doormats?
I'll rid myself of a false nose and wonder who the hell
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