my mom is lovely
we argue and fight, but she
will always be there

Her name tastes sweet like blue
She looks like crashing waves sound
She crys like the ocean screams
Her happiness is feels like fresh rain

Sometimes,

too much of a good thing
is a
bad thing.

what if
you took a step back,
saw your life as
the work of art it is,
made beautiful by
tireless perfectionism and
ultimate lack of control,
treasured creations and
unseen shadows,
internal battles and
conflicting thoughts,
all together striking
balance,
contrast,
a wilderness of
human intricacy?