As stories go, mine’s not unique.
I’m partly poet, partly geek,
a humdrum person, so to speak.
I’ve never been what some call wild.
In truth, I’m rather meek and mild,
not radical nor flower child.
I’ll never be a movie star,
excite the crowd with my guitar
or drive an F1 racing car.
I don’t keep house, don’t even cook,
can’t figure out a crochet hook.
Things I don’t know might fill a book.
But who on earth would want to read
what I’ve become by thought and deed?
Who’d waste their time on such a screed?
It’s just a life, in simple terms,
and as I hope this piece affirms,
let’s leave alone that can of worms.
© Susan Schoeffield
Written for the 6/15/14 prompt at Creative Bloomings to write a poem about why you wouldn’t write your autobiography.