she would make

my house is a palette of unmatched patterns and unfinished thoughts.
inside her doors you will find no woman wooing at her floors, her molding. she lacks order and routine.
but like a close friend, we are intimate.
she flaunts no crown molding, crisp lines, perfections. no expectations for my life. no ultimatums.
she would make a good friend.
and Ive grown tired of seasonal friendships; tired of latching onto something I could lose. slow to let people in, how can you know when its lasting.
people can be so wonderful. so beautiful.
but maybe Id rather miss out entirely than know whats missing. maybe Id rather let go than worry.
or maybe when I let them in I shouldn't expect so much. maybe I should be honored just to be near something so great. they are the mansion, the finely furnished brownstone.
but my house is a palette of unmatched patterns and unfinished thoughts.
and she would make a good friend,
shes everything I could ask for.
there is no hesitation in her acceptance.
she doesn't mind that my bangs don't always know which way to fall. that today, they fell left and gave me an artificial cowlick.
or the fact that I desperately wish I had an afro.
no, bring on the insecurities and flaws. no ultimatums,
I can hold tightly to the friend like my house.
its like humans to put ourselves out there again. we don't always learn from our scars.