May I be perfect?


We sit in our perfect little bubbles,

Where everything is plentiful.

We believe anything is possible,

But we are blind to anything truthful.

They look at me

And only see the outside.

They buzz like a honeybee.

Denying the oncoming tide.

I don’t want to be like them,

And I know that I have never been.

I try to believe that I am a brilliant gem,

But their waves crash and sting like gin.

Maybe I am something special,

Or simply deaf.