Myself and me
Or, perhaps it’s we
Or, sometimes
It’s a legion
Inside of me.

Each one different
Each one the same
Some are delightful
Some are strange

There’s the harlot,
The whore, the simple maid.
The sultry shrew, that’s got to be paid.
There’s the mother, overfull with life
And the tender, caring, loving wife.

There’s the child, the brat
The selfish kid
Who screams and yells
Facing what she did.

There’s Pollyanna
All sweetness and light
Who smiles and serves
Always doing what’s right.

There’s the tomboy, the clown
The scholar too
Each trying to tell me
What I should do.

The teacher, the toddler
The wise old man
The scientific thinker and
The tipsy ham.

The actor, the baker,
The family banker
The doctor, the driver
The policy maker.

All live inside of me
At peace, at war,
These and more,
Wondering who I’ll really be.

Nancy Plagge struggles to broadcast words . . .