I’m Just Me

I’m Just Me

Tonight I ate like a horse.

I don’t remember eating hay and grass

But apparently I did.

Yesterday I ran around like a headless chicken.

I mean, I don’t recall being headless or a chicken,

But I guess I was both at some point.


Everybody else sees me as this strange thing eating hay and running around with blood dripping from my neck.

That would just be weird.

I’m not weird.

I’m just me.


Sometimes I’m quiet, and people get scared to death when I suddenly say something.

I say sorry.

I mean, what else am I supposed to say to somebody who has just died.

I run away.

I’m not sticking around for the police to come and take me away.

I mean, I killed them.

I literally scared them to death.


Everybody else seems to get something about these ‘phrases.’

That’s what they call them, you know.

Everybody is born knowing them.

They try to teach me, but no matter how many I learn there are more.

‘Chicken’ they say.

‘I am not a chicken’ I reply.

They laugh.

Run away.

‘I am a human.’


My name is Harold Gubard.

I am six years, five months, and three days old.

I’m shy.

I’m ‘strange.’

I’m just me.

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