Sometimes living just don’t feel right
And the only thing that does feel bout right is sleep.
I often feel like biscuits that failed to rise because they came out of the oven womb too soon.
So its sleep.
Sleep I says seems like the oven I need to rest in.
And in that rest I will come out when I rise.
And my baking is then finished,
I am done inside and out.
And the unsalted butter is slathered on with a heavy hand. A hand that is not unfamiliar with creation because it created all things in the before.
Then my skin will fit.
I will be happy.
I will know myself.
And I will softly walk on crisp flakey edges regal in my brown from just being made alright and round.