I continue to feel more like a self I want to be
A mix of self-loathing and hubris
Where I'm always in the middle
Temporally and otherwise
With a fetish for old emails
That fill me with shame
And feel penned under a different name
But are written by me
In an iterative process
With dimensional implications
Thank god I married an editor
Who helps me to see what I could never see
And I'm telling older generations
About the mistakes I made
That I learned from them
And they don't want to know
But I don't want the kid to know
About anachronistic violence and double dosed duality
That'll ruin their twenties when they think they're free
And have it figured out
Just doing variations of what they hated
With a dumb haircut like mine
That looks better on them
Cause they're better than me
Or so I can't not hope it's true
If I ever want to sleep again
So in thirty years, I hope they invite me to lunch
And tell me why I've been a shit
Cause I knew it all along
But the hemoglobins slowed
And compelled my actions through duress
While I wore less form fitting clothes
And a few less inches
And I made everything contingent
On the rules of before