What would you do
if you weren’t afraid of making messes?
Would you have that shot you thought would do you in
(espresso or alcohol, your call)
Would you see how it felt
to have that hard conversation
if you knew the words would come cleanly off your tongue
and all you’d have left was the reaction?
Would you walk a little faster, tip your face a little higher
Would you go ahead and make that big mistake
on purpose?
Would you hold my hand when it mattered?
Would you tell everyone you were in love?
If I could make a mess, I would be freer
I would certainly be a believer
in words like “long-term” and “change.”
And contrast.
I would run until I couldn’t think,
and not feel forced to tell you why.
Because messes are really just arbitrary things
One person’s mess is another’s joy in being
and whoever judges one’s mess is wishing they’d made it first.
If Life makes a mess of me
If I make a mess of Life
I lived
I lived
I lived

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