Sometimes I am poetry.
Limbs made of words,
legs of verse and stanza,
Mouth made of rhythm.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~


I met perfect.

But it wasn’t.

Wrong time.
Wrong place.
Too far. Too late.

But I know
I met perfect.

I can tell. Inside.
Outside.

Perfect.

Even though it hurts,
there is an odd sort of
perfect comfort
in knowing
for sure
that perfect does exist.

Even if it is
imperfect.

_{Uh oh... I'd better get over myself...}


I've been seeing these Meez all over DA. Finally decided to make one of my own.

My little Meez. Looking for a special Youz.
Maybe I'll just make me a Man Meez!



~~~~~~~~



"The aim of life is to live, and to live means to be aware ~
joyously, drunkenly, serenely, divinely aware." Henry Miller.



I am aware once again. Aware, awake, and alive...




Sometimes we pour ourselves out only to find we've become just a mess on the floor in someone else's eyes. But then we insert ourselves into the pores of the wood, evaporate, and we find nirvana in a different space and time...
_{Inspired by =believe-hope's deviation Unlike You [link]}

~~~~~~~~