We are different, you and I,
from upbringing to current life,
you struggled through most of it,
forging your own path,
making decisions that would
get you to your paradise.
I had the path placed before me,
followed a map to an end
that I may or may not have wanted,
but I’m here all the same.
We met on a Monday,
an ordinary first day,
I sat, slightly slouched in my chair,
leaning back in comfort,
you sat straight up trying to read me.
You and I don’t make a lot of sense,
we are a poem with an irregular rhyme scheme,
chaotic throughout, completely surprising eyes,
causing confusion as we break away
from conventions and what everyone expects to see,
but in the end, that awkwardness, that irregularity,
makes us better, makes the ending a better payoff.
We might not make sense throughout,
but by the end, we’re beautiful together nonetheless.