My Damn List

“What motivates you?” people always ask.

Or, at the least, what gets me out of bed.

It seems quite simple, really, at first glance.

Except I don't fully see it that way.

I lack the simple, solid answer sought.

They want to hear career or lofty goals.

They aren’t prepared for my abstract reply:

The crunch of autumn leaves and the warm sun,

The scratching of a pencil on paper,

The smell of fresh-cut grass in summertime,

A clap of thunder, flash of lightning bright,

A sand-drip castle; gritty, slimy drops,

A cup of tea,-- it warms my freezing hands.  

I mostly hope that one day I’ll like me.

Because, that’s what we all want, isn’t it?                                    

To love ourselves? Be comfortable in

our skin? What motive is better than that?

It might just be me, though I doubt that’s true.

Whatever the case, I’ve got my motives.

If you don’t like it, make your own damn list.

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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