by Mary E. Lowd
That feeling when
Every weakness will be
Exploited
So it’s never safe
To be anything less
Than perfect but
It’s a brittle perfect
Ready to crack
Any moment
I want to be glorious
Not perfect
Awesome
Not precise
I’m too grand to be boxed up
Like cubes in a tray
In this drink called life
I’m the gin, not the ice
