Monday, November 21, 2022


I don't chase perfection
I dont even try
I sit still on the grass
And stare at the imperfect sky

The world is so muddy
Why try to stay dry
Puddles are for stomping
Mats to wipe the dirt goodbye

Sometimes I'm foolish
Don't feed me that polite lie
I see flaws in my reality
And my comfort is the right size.