Perfectly Unmade

I am not easy.
I am not clean.
I am not easy.
I am not clean.
But I am more than what broke in me.
(a person with a name)
Perfectly unmade.

My room looks like weather, kettle mid-shriek,
I apologise early. I make it worse.
I laugh too loudly if the room gets tense —
I call it protection. You call it defence.
I burn the toast, forget birthdays in June,
send the apology text at length, twice,
I talk to the ceiling, missing the moon.
But I show up honest. I don't love halfway.
When I hand you my chaos, I hand you my name,
the cupboard of mismatched mugs, the lot —
the drawer that opens if you know the knack.
I'll sit with you at 3 a.m. through everything wrong —
the paperwork's late but the love inside is strong.

I tried being perfect.
It made me a ghost.
The parts I kept hiding
needed love the most.

I'm perfectly unmade!
(unmade)
stitched up wrong but still brave.
Polished lives across the road.
The real ones get the key.

Unmade, unmade.

Still worth love this way.
(still worth love this way)
I won't hide today.
(unmade)

Spent years leaning at the sink
sanding my edges down,
returning myself like a faulty product
to a shop that never sold me.
Turns out the people worth the keeping
never wanted me arranged —
they wanted the door unlocked,
the loud laugh, the burnt toast, the name.
I cried at a dog food advert last week.
The people worth keeping cried too,
then we ordered the good takeaway
and nobody once said 'pull yourself together.'

I tried being perfect.
It made me a ghost.
The parts I kept hiding
needed love the most.

I'm perfectly unmade!
(unmade)
stitched up wrong but still brave.
Polished lives across the road.
The real ones get the key.

Not a rough draft.
Not a project.
A first edition. Signed.
Cupboard of mismatched mugs and all.
Tea going cold, phone on the tiles between us.

The truth, said plain across the table:
don't fix me — hold me like a flame.
I'm not a problem. I'm a person with a name,
burnt toast, knack-drawer, the lot.
Not a rough draft waiting to be cleaned —
a first edition, coffee ring on the cover,
spine cracked exactly at the good bits,
the realest you've ever seen.

I'm perfectly unmade!
(unmade)
stitched up wrong but still brave.
Burnt toast, loud laugh, door unlocked —
the real ones got the key.

Still worth love this way.
(a person with a name)
Perfectly unmade.
(a person with a name)
Perfectly unmade.