What Makes Me Up Can Break Me Down

When I was ten,
My grandma put a Hoover outside my door when I was asleep.
And every time I woke up it had gotten closer to me.
Terrifying at the time, but it was a funny joke to play, Don’t you agree ?

And now I cannot sleep with a Hoover in my room.
It is strange isn’t it ?
But it is me.
Its eccentric, bazaar, neurotic.
And yet its me.

What I am trying to say.
What am I trying to say ?
That all these little likes,
And all these little dislikes,
Build a person, and with out my grandma’s cruel humour.
I would be a different person.

So when you break it down, I am what I love.
I am what I hate,
And I am afraid of Hoovers a night.