You’re on the toilet, back hunched, like an autumn branch, limped, from the Californian summer heat. The heat wave is coming to its karmic ending. As the walls start to quiet, 

the white paint’s bright screams turn into a camouflaged murmur of seasons past and crumbles of crusted paint wallow on the hardwood’s antique surface. Like you awoke from a 3 day slumber, drool covered pillowcases, skin, worn, with patterns of blankly spent days. Bits of sand and crust scatter from your eyelashes cascading your view and stick onto your stained shirt, into your knotted hair; blinking your eyes into pools. The tide whispers, the sky turns black, 

like a forgotten room 

after you’ve stood in front of the sweet swollen sun.


You see the innocent bug crawl upon the rusted hinge. 

You sit in awe, that somehow, a smaller than penny sized sign of life, bug, that kind of looks like a long piece of dirt, has defeated gravity and is crawling across from you in your bathroom. Born and worn and torn and left untouched, perhaps forewarned. 

You let go of your preconceived notions of elementary science class and it’s lingering smell 

of baking soda and vinegar, 

you realize your thoughts are just thoughts, 

taxes are not inherently evil, that is not you talking. 

You let yourself be imperfect, 

you file your taxes on April 15th for the hell of it, you let yourself watch that show, stay up too late and eat 

one too many chips. 

You let yourself be happy in a world where you can choose to be anything. You let go and let be and 

let yourself breathe through your chip filled sodium soaked mouth and scratch your pimple with your salt filled fingernails. 

You learn just a bit more about yourself. You learn that you are sick of salt and vinegar chips and that you never actually liked them in the first place, 

you learn that Lilac scented soap leaves a really sweet smell on your fragile, dry from the soap hands, and maybe, just maybe, 

that you should invest in new soap… 

You learn more about life, life that is filled with you 

and with God 

and with chips, crappy TV, and nights that seem to go on without your consent. You feel grounded once again mixed with a tinge of surprise. A voice tells you to pull your dirty, hasn’t been washed in 4 weeks, blanket, over your head and hide from the world. So you breathe 

just a bit deeper and smile just a bit wider. Showing off your chip filled, yellowed beautiful teeth to the world 

and think about washing your sheet. 

With your salt soaked mouth, dry hands, and reddened eyes you understand these moments, these moments, are entangled, entangled with beauty; as if you are an old abandoned brick building covered in a green ivy. It’s not that you don’t care 

about your body, You Do. 

But you also let this moment be a teacher 

You let the night rest, tuck it in and kiss it goodnight. Sing it a lullaby your mom used to sing to you before you knew how to speak words, and before you outgrew her, before you knew Shakira existed, before worry touched your precious body. 

You let it be a ‘hallelujah!’ to another beautifully imperfect day on this floating grand rock. You hit your head on your pillow and the sweet surge of another day lived finds and fills your worn, rusted, perfectly imperfect 

spirit. 

Perfectionism, reborn.