I am Emily, old and anorexic,
My food bowl says “God,” to anyone dyslexic.
For me, sixteen is neither sweet nor prime.
I’m a hundred and twelve in people time.
But like human beings of equivalent age
My moods swing easily from passive to rage,
And mostly I spend my days just napping,
With a break now and then for peeing and crapping.
Unlike humans I do it outside
For me, a good poop is nothing to hide.
But to void while avoiding notice portends
Old persons today must depend on Depends.
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