You Weren't Aware That I Am, In Fact, A Poet

...cause I'm not. Duh! That title didn't even rhyme.

Recently, a friend of mine wrote a blog post entitled "map of my heart." It was a lovely, profound, insightful, poetic piece of loveliness.
So, naturally, it inspired me.
Except, I'm not all fancy and poetic...

Map of A-Money's Heart

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Look in my heart, and you'll find some stuff about me.

I can't really tell you what you'll see

My heart's full of questions

Questions like "why am I here...

...on my computer...

...when I should be reading A Tale of Two Cities..."

My heart's full of desires

like food

and water

and to get more sleep

and to go skiing and to go skiing and to go skiing

and to be famous for my super-white-girl rapping skills

and for some guy from a renowned organization who probably wears a suit

and might be balding and has glasses to randomly say

"Hey, you won a million bucks,

because you have a really cool trucker hat".

My heart's full of memories

like when I peed my pants in 2nd grade

and when I crashed into a dumpster on my bike

and when I accidentally did a back flip off a swing

and when Abbert and I mixed up a bunch o' gross nasties together

and convinced my brother and his friends it was a delicious smoothie.

My heart's full of feelings

like "whoah, that was exciting"

and "whoah, that was cool"

and "whoah, that makes me mad"

and "whoah, that's hilarious"

and "whoah, I love this person"

and "whoah, I'm tired"

And, my heart's full of songs

that I make up on the spot

about brownies, or sometimes steak

or about school, or people

but usually about life in general.

My heart is also a vital organ that pumps blood to the other organs in my body.

This is where I make my dramatic escape. Pretend you didn't see it coming.

WHOOSH.