I have never had looks,
and have long had no hair.
My feet are malformed
from a childhood of wearing
small shoes, for too long.
Struggles with my weight
have always been with me,
and my eyes are failing,
as my hearing fades.
Rosacea blots my wrinkled skin,
and my eyebrows are bushy, unruly,
and white.
My faults are self-catalogued,
and I’ve learned to embrace them,
and have come to accept
who I am.
What I have going for me,
that gives me much joy,
is a Mensa entry test
in top one percent.
My vocabulary,
though archaic, and dull,
is vast, relentlessly controlled
by grammar police within.
My quest for knowledge
is constant, epistemologically based.
Ontology is a recent friend,
with whom I spend much time.
Philosophy, cosmology,
and quantum physics
vie for my fickle attention.
So much to think about,
and so little time,
that I often become overwhelmed.
So when you say that my musings
may be considered grandiose by some,
I think your horizons are nearer than mine,
and you have no idea just who I am.
