Too hairy to be a lady

Too soft to be a man

Too fit to be a fatty

Too happy with my body

Too nice to be a loner

Too aloof to keep them there

Too open to be a book,

Never flipped, never closed

Too earnest to be a lover

Too intimate for a friend

Too sad

Too mad

Too bitter

Too glad

Call me

Porridge, goldy—

You’re never going to be satisfied.

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