here's to mistakes.
here's to imperfections.
here's not not caring what they think.
here's to passion,
sloppy, messy, undone, manic, unfinished passion.
here's to misspelled words.
to underachievement.
here's to untidy rooms.
to distraction
and a lack of time management
to missing the details
others seem to obsess upon.
here's to a disorganized mess,
you can still find something in.
here's to colouring outside the lines.
to running a muck,
talking too loud,
and getting excited.
here's to unwashed hair
and clothes in a pile,
on the floor.
here's to inspiration
when it finds you,
in the middle of something 'important'
so important,
you have run off to the toilet,
just to write it down
even though
you know
you'll never use it.
here's to never being happy.
sleeping past the alarm,
fishing for every extra second,
to being late
for everything.
here's to impatience.
getting what you want
without all the trivial steps.
here's to grammar and spelling
and making a big mockery of the whole thing.
because you just couldn't give a fuck
what people think,
when you're trying to describe
the very subtle sound
the fridge door makes
when it suctions itself together
and how all doors
could benefit
from such a sense of completeness.
so fuck them.
fuck it,
if you don't fit.
fuck what you don't understand about them
I can guarantee you've given it more thought,
then what they have
to what they don't understand
about you.
so here's to taking a piss
all over the word potential
not that you can spell it anyway
they can keep perfection
they can keep right
you'll always have the fridge,
and how it feels
to be
alive.
 |
| Mick, one of my lovely regulars and fellow philosopher. |
