a quiet rebellion

So what,
If I don’t fit into your boxes,
Squares are too rigid anyway.

I’ve watched many check them,
And still ache in incompletion.
I’d rather soften into my own geometry,
In curves and shapes you haven’t seen,
Like an architect tracing the scaffolding,
Of their next masterpiece. 
I’ll make and break my own blueprint,
Just wait till you see. 

Is this a quiet rebellion? 
Or maybe it’s loud?
Either way, I claim it.

I count my currency,
By the number of flowers I’ve inhaled,
On daily walks,
With friends,
That bloom without being asked to,
What a lesson,
In not forcing,
What costs you your own softness.

Who cares,
If my smile turns up,
By the number of lattes I’ve savored,
In bustling coffee shops,
Across tables with real people,
Who ask real questions.

What a walking paradox,
To feel most myself,
On the outside glass,
Of expectation. 

To finally understand,
That love is everywhere,
In many forms,
If you quiet the noise,
And tune in.

Isn’t that the real lottery ticket?
As much as it might have you worried.
I’m not - 
Because the anxiety of a ticking clock,
Got quieter,
Once I began to listen to the beat,
Of my own heart. 

Her melody is more pleasurable anyway. 
I’ll play you a song if you’ll listen.