THE CLICHE POEM

By
When I was young...
I wore my heart on my sleeve,
I acted like a bull in a china shop,
I thought I was as sharp as a tack,
Yet, I was as quiet as a mouse.
I acted like a blast from the past,
LIke I was untouchable.
But that was a shot in the dark.
In reality,
I was a few cents shy of a dollar.
But maybe,
Just maybe
I was untouchable
Because the world was my oyster.





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