This will be an ode to myself.
Detached from pain and sin, grounded to this earth by atoms, this will be another ending.

Writing about oneself is odd; I don’t know if it’s possible to create my ending.
I tend to reference old versions of myself in my work; which part of me is perfect for this line?

The past is always sweeter than the present; trace the chocolate syrup timeline.
I felt I knew better than to accept the truth; this isn’t all there is.

Why are you sitting here listening to a minute (tiny) minute (time) poem from a girl who doesn’t know who she is?
Stuck on these existential problems, I get nowhere here.

Life happens, I’m still here.
The world is cruel to one who knows so little about it. 

I need to understand the reasons behind it.
Monotony is only valuable when the repetition fits your definition of happiness.  

Defining the abstract noun each day is a process; that could be my happiness.
I’m not sure if this was an ode to myself.