Things I know, Things I don't know - a poem, I guess

I know why the caged bird sings

Well, no I don’t

Maya Angelou knows that

I mean I guess she does

It says so right on the cover

I don’t know, I haven’t read it

But I know that it’s a book

I know the sound my daughter makes

When I tickle her tummy

Which is different from the sound

When she laughs at a joke about butts

She laughs at butts a lot

I don’t know why butts are so funny

But I know they are, even to me

I know the world could be better

I don’t really know how

I mean I guess I do

Maybe the “could” is the problem

I know the world should be better

But maybe it can’t be

I wouldn’t know

I know the wonderful feeling

Of taking off my bra

At the end of a long day

I wish I didn’t wear one at all

In college some people

Commented on my nips showing

And I know that's why I do

I know things now

Many valuable things

That I hadn’t known before

Like lyrics to Sondheim songs

Or knowing how to Google them

In case I switched a word around

Which I know wouldn't be as funny

I know that I don’t remember smells

Like how they do in books

When they say it smelled like

Grandma’s house or something

Maybe I just have a bad smell memory

Which I will now call smemory

So I know what I don’t know

I know I am often jealous

Of other people’s lives

Even though I am pretty content

Well, not really super content

Since I don’t have a lot of

Money or friends or free time

I know things could be better, or should be

I know I am more well travelled

Than some people

But less well travelled than others

And I know my passport is expired

Because I can’t afford to travel

And I feel so cut off

I know I am missing a lot

I know there are things I am bad at

Like cooking and cleaning

And managing my time

Which are bad things to be bad at

I’m also bad at other things too

Like clapping a rhythm or braiding hair

That I know are slightly less important

I know I have a lot of ideas

But I don’t really remember how

To format them into an actual poem

Like is this a poem?

I don’t even know

Maybe it is

And I don’t even know it

I don’t really know how to stop

Stop talking, stop writing, just stop

I know I tend to ramble

And I tend to interrupt people

Which is rude

But I really struggle a lot

With knowing when to stop