This was a poem that came out of nowhere and was a scribble and in order to adhere to Kerouac's rules of spontaneous prose I have promised myself I would not edit. Here it is.
Enough,
I think I seem I am I think I am
enough,
I think,
I am not pretty.
as beautiful as water
(from a tap)
but enough
of a pile of human teeth,
not grown-up but grown
from troubled daughter
(far enough from little brat)
so please, no need to look underneath
the words I say-
that's quite enough.
I think I seem I am I think
I am okay.