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After many hours trying to describe who I am

I’ve drawn the conclusion I don’t think I can

I’m so complicated I can’t work me out

Does everyone suffer this kind of self-doubt?


Sometimes I’m happy, but often I’m sad

One day I’m very good the next I’m quite bad

At times I could take on the whole world and fight

But often I long for just peace and respite


I’m often quite witty for laughter’s a must

Then grumpy steps in and I’m moody and brusque

I can be quite wise with a strong sense of being

Then often I’m stupid and nothing I’m seeing


I have always believed that there’s more to this life

But it’s easy to doubt it when troubles are rife

We are none of us perfect, we change day to day

I think I’ll accept me, what more can I say?

Carole Snowden

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