Show of hands.
How many of y’all base your personality,
Solely on what’s interesting and not its quality.
That’s quite a few,
And this poem is probably going to attack you.
One day it’s dark academia,
And the next it’s villainous mania.
You’ve had days where you feel like a princess,
Running from your overbearing parents (or maybe incest?).
On others you’re the friendly neighbourhood e-person,
Waiting for your turn to do some corpsehusband cursin’.
Pretty sure you were obsessed with a boyband,
Or was it asking that fictional character for their hand.
Perhaps you remember when you wrote a Manchester United jersey everyday,
Oh no I’m remembering the time you just decided you were gay.
Your Spotify playlists are still portraying,
Less wrapped and more overflowing.
Sure your personality is changing at lightning speed,
But here’s some advice you may choose to heed.
Don’t listen to anything I said, I currently fancy myself a poet,
Let’s hope that changes soon, this poem is a disaster and you know it.