Honestly, It Feels Wrong To Give This Poem An Ironic Title, So I’m Just Going To Call It “Charles”

I am not the clothes I wear.

I’m not the style of my hair.

I’m not my height or weight or style,

Neither my scowl nor my smile.

All these things that you can see

Mean nothing to that which is me.

I’m what I do, or so I’ve found;

My body’s just to get around.

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