Awake for the smallest of things,
 I promise I am not stuck up;
My heart, a gift, it beats and brings
 All but a line to pick-you-up.

A kiss-off, an awakening
 For the weak mind and strongest soul;
As for me, I am hastening
 Towards little things that make me whole.

Books, jobs, the nubs now nudged aside,
 To lovely people I pay heed
And wonder if love conceals pride,
 And if not, then which do I need?

Caught in feelings in my own race
 I look out for a subtle hug;
Above love’s alarming, warm embrace,
 I spy the laurel, yes, so smug.

Selfish, little, petty, my mind
 Cannot fathom my soul outright;
For soul, to crown, of sins remind
 That snow turns black and never white.

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