Life is never perfect;
it is flawed
from all sides,
the intersection
where defects collide.
Life is never straight;
it is bent
at strange angles
and twisted
until a mesh of tangles.
Life is never consistent;
it is composed
of only discordance,
its demeanor-
an unsteady stance.
Life is never clean-cut;
it is wrought
with jagged borders
and soiled
with stains of disorder.
Life is never organized;
it is structured
around disarray,
nothing more than
your clutter on display.
Life is never predictable;
it is characterized
by a state of uproar,
but I promise
it will never be a bore.