It’s not a secret,
I have a thousand flaws.
I line them up upside my head
and observe their stubbornness to never leave me.
(You did though)
Fresh cut grass – one of my favourite smells,
yet it’s funny
that I like something that’s just been cut.
(I should do the same to all my imperfections)
Everything happens for a reason, they say.
How do they know?