I am imperfect.
I don’t always keep my elbows off of the dinner table.
Sometimes I over eat.
Then I complain about the tummy ache.
The things I say don’t always make sense; they don’t always seem logical,
But I expect others to accept it, even if they don’t agree with it.
I am imperfect.
I avoid the ‘Net for weeks at a time.
I vanish from existence
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