My Biography

Flipping through the pages of my biography,
I noticed there were a few discrepancies.
I never fell in Love
I don’t live with an “Us”…
Since when was I content
with not having enough?

The writer wrote in ink—
staining my memories and violating everything.
Who was the writer?
Did I hire a liar?!
Maybe I should’ve gone with
someone with more desire.

After years of waiting,
I have to start all over from the beginning.
Each year births a new me,
concepts change—constantly.
I guess it’s time to rewrite
my biography.


  1. I can so relate to this. We change, but what we write about ourselves is static. “The writer wrote in ink— / staining my memories and violating everything.” Love the way you write it.

    I wonder…. should we maybe never look back, just keep moving forward? That’s sort of what I ended up doing, at least compared to the way I *used* to be, which was constantly “rewriting” the past (i.e. the same few pages/pieces/bios, over and over). But now I’ve got a mess all over the internet, lol.

    Anyway, great poem, Anthony. :))

    Liked by 1 person

        1. Omg. You are so kind. I’m dying right now. 😂I remember seeing Antony’s comments on the pancake poem and I guess you brothers-in-poetry were momentarily fused in my mind. In a friendly way. Lol. Okay I’ll stop trying to yank my foot out now. 😆

          Liked by 1 person

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