That day

What happened that day I asked myself?
What was going through my inner thoughts
To just allow me to follow without question
A lead towards happiness, future.
It was always told to me it could happen
But I just didn’t fit the happy pattern
You know the one
Sweet little pretty wife, with dozens of friends
The always painted face and hidden tears
Perfect home and wonderful garden, darling
The life on a constant treadmill and rota,
Moving so fast I’m dizzy.
Oh I tried so hard and so long
Drifting in my head when I could to somewhere
I didn’t have to reach for beyond the stars
And I gave up, stopped looking.
Then I looked again and painted my own perfect
Not the expected delivery of it.
My perfect.
No rosy pink and flowers round the door
Exaggerated plans to please anyone
In my own colours,
Carved from the tree, painted purple and shining
Some light areas.
Perfect my perfect, not yours maybe
But now I know something
There are so many variations on perfect.



Author: ailsacawley

I have written since I can remember, devouring the stories of Roald Dahl under the covers by torchlight. I have always loved fairy tales, myths and magic. A good deal of the things I write has some truth in it. Others, not. I’m pleased you dropped by, please feel free to leave me a comment or if you’re kind enough to share that’s fine. ☺️

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