My mother has said I am smart like Frankenstein,
but these days, I resemble his homemade monster.
All shock, all scars, all spliced up;
stitched back to gether with my own hands.

I feel she may be right about me;
made up of different people's parts,
like nothing fits to gether an ymore.
I wonder about Frankenstein's monster;
if he felt an ything about all that patchwork.

If he dreamt of taking himself apart to o,
trying to rearrange his mismatched pieces.

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