I’ve been asked more than
once, twice, fifty more
what made me some kind of
Been answering the question
same way for years, been
laughing, swearing, yelling
back little gems I make up
along the way. I feel most
of it, maybe all of it, was
a stump of a tree I cut down
and regretted it for years.
The way the other trees
grew around it, mocking.
How there never was a
place as empty after that.
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