A Girl Is A Gun

I Hope You Dance

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Proficient to the Day

Get By

Every day someone wants more.
A better plan.
A brighter mood.
Another way to fix what isn’t broken.
I light another cigarette.
That’s my answer.

I smoke too much because I’m tired of becoming.
I smoke too much because perfection feels like a cage.
I smoke too much because doing harm I choose
is the only thing that feels like mine.
I smoke too much because it shuts the world up
and lets me breathe on my own terms.

Everyone is chasing progress.
New goals.
New hacks.
New ways to be less human.
I stay still.
I breathe in.
The smoke is the only thing that doesn’t demand improvement.

Maybe I quit tomorrow.
Maybe not.
Tonight I don’t owe a single inch of better.

I smoke too much because I’m tired of becoming.
I smoke too much because perfection feels like a cage.
I smoke too much because doing harm I choose
is the only thing that feels like mine.
I smoke too much because it shuts the world up
and lets me breathe on my own terms.

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