You are what makes and remakes me
with a broad stroke,

but in a wallpapered room
full of birds and Tokyo prints
hung in a mirror’s center,

your blurred edge
sharpens my understanding.
Your easy interruption
aches with unknown consequences
for my

ride home.

Consider: I try to be better each day.
I try to change path and system.
I try fail try fail try.

It is so easy to be set,
a cake pulled from the oven,
But I’m not done.
And I will not allow myself to be
devoured while I’m still

bubbling.

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