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Cats, Cats, Cats

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I think I’ll end up being
The lady with the twenty seven cats.
Maybe I’m boring,
I know I’m too quiet—
For who wants to befriend someone who collects hats?
I wake up every day feeling nothing but tired,
When people my age are always, hyper, excited, and wired.
I sip my coffee, I read my book, I watch a little TV,
While they’re out partying, dancing, and drinking,
I’m barely preparing my chamomile tea.
I may not look old, I have all my teeth, and thank God,
Nothing’s started to sag.
But I wonder, oh how I wonder
Why at eighteen I feel like a dull rag?
But please don’t feel sorry, for I am not yet senile and
My eyesight is good, for the most part.
I’m still in my teens,
Believe life is a dream, and am only
Weary at heart.





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