I have bad habits,
and a good heart
the two never balance out beautifully
they don't fall in love like the first time,
when you're awkward and naive and sixteen,
on front porches and wired from caffeine,
they don't hold hands in July when it's too hot to think,
like lovers do at that age, eager to experience that innocent feeling
in color, over and over.
I have bad habits,
and a good heart; the former always wins,
they don't dance under autumn trees like lovers at 16,
they sting like the first heartbreak.
The kind of repurcussions that tip boats made to withstand
storms that even solid land could not endure,
I have bad habits and they make sure to show.
I have a good heart
but it barely matters
because what's a good cup
when the rest of your china is shattered
and even worse,
by your own actions.
I have a good heart, and bad habits,
the two don't balance or dance,
they bicker and bend.
I have a good heart,
but that's merely defense.