Standards, Poem

Standards

I try to sleep, but I can't.
I wrestle with the covers for hours.
They don't feel right to me.
I try to make them perfect.
I am unable to.

I realize that it is not the covers that aren't perfect,
It is me.
It is my standards that keep me awake

The covers would be fine if I weren't there to judge.
Nobody would be there to complain,
About the sheets being too cold,
Too wrinkled, or too soft.
And the blakets being too rough,
Too heavy, or too loose.

All covers would be perfect,
Blankets, sheets, quilts, comforters,
If only I weren't there.
If only you weren't there either.
If only no one were there.

All things,
Every shape, size, and color,
They all would be perfect,
If only we didn't judge.

© Crystal Abeel

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