I am a child.

I think, sometimes,
I have it all
figured out, but then
am slapped awake
by my own insecurites
and fear.

What does it matter
what the future holds?

Everything decays and falls apart eventually.

Everything is reborn again through the soil
and sunlight,
eventually.


I have died so many times,
my heart feels heavy
with the pressure
of perfection.

But I can't change who I am
or the way my mind moves
so fast sometimes.

I am imperfection
in it's most perfect form.

04/03/2008

Posted on 04/03/2008
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