I can't even get near that proper number,
always too dark or too light
too intimate or too far back,
forever think about me, me and myself
My pancakes are too runny or too lumpy
meat is always ruined when I cook
I break or lose things I love first
toothpaste tube is squeezed in the middle
Uttered words that should never have come out of me and
unsaid words that should have given to him with all my heart
Stack of both are left behind with me,
I just don't know what to do with them
But now no one is forced to tolerate me
what is missing or excessing is totally for my own inconvenience.
With my cat, who can never get hurt by my words nor my silence,
I enjoy my little imperfect life.
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