“Why don’t I write a sonnet for a change?”
I said to the man I’m supposed to be.
He really is me. It might seem strange?
My soul is who I am and who is me.

And my soul is you in element’ry ways.
See everything is One, my son. It’s true.
Shakespeare would never write this but okay.
I’ll steal his form of sonnet and accrue.

I second-guess myself way too dang much.
I’m rarely wrong the first time, but I guess.
The times I am at least I can, as such,
Correct and right the rapture of the quest.

I rambled here, I know, Apologize.
At least this wasn’t filled with BS lies.