He says he’s not a castle
So what is he?
He is what he thinks he is.
And he is what I think he is.
And what everyone who knows him
Thinks he is.
I am a perpetual
Six year old toddler.
Toothless with pigtails.
My great niece sees me
as Aunt Sally—
so does her father
But he sees me an octave higher
Sometimes I’m my older sister’s little sister
A kaleidoscope of people
Mixing, turning am I
My pen and paper know
Me as I really am
An over compulsive poet.