I’m just right.
Just the right amount of broken. Just the right amount of fucked up.
I’m just the right amount of imperfect. Of forgiving, of working towards the better.
I’m just the right amount of holding on…and I’m just the right amount of letting go. Or, at least…I’m trying to be.
I’m not who I want to be. But I’m just right for who I am right now.
Who I am right now is trying.
And to try is to be just right.