wish someone would overanalyze
the things i do and feel
(just once)
the way i do with everyone else

i am a graveyard of withered bouquets
of "writing..." dots in unsent texts
i am a house of cards of daydreams
a food bank of old birthday cakes

no real person can provide you with everything
no real person can provide you with everything

wish i could feel enough
for the world
that always seems to
need more than i can give

wish the world
could feel enough
the way it is
with me

consider this:
maybe you don't have to be perfect all the time

i consider
but
god,
perfection tastes so sweet
it's all or nothing, usually nothing
but when it's all
then no one does perfection as perfectly as me

they say everything in life is
t e  m   p    o     r      a       r        y
but,
so far,
not my desire,
to. go. against. the. flow.

i want to rush
into the person i can be
crash
against each person that i see
i might
be keen to choke
on all the things i thought i'd never get
i want to cram
the time i wasted
between the minutes as they go
reset

i'm holding it all in my hands
like it's something fragile
your words your smiles your open arms your knowing
of me my soft spots bus times eating habits
wrapped as with wool in easy sentences
like next week usual time

i'm holding it all in my hands
along with bags of groceries
of duties plans calendars filled with
names of people wanting things and
giving things that i forgot at home
or i will lose tomorrow

i see an apple fall out of the bag
i'm holding it all in my hands
not enough hands to hold it in a way
that makes it safe from shattering
if i trip on the sidewalk and find myself
with no one there to catch me

i let the apple roll down the street
for someone else to trip on
won't risk dropping the now in my hands
hoping in thanks it might whisper
don't worry honey i'm yours
i'm yours i'm yours to keep