Sometimes I will feel something inside that cries.
It wants for things to work better. Harder. Right.
But I always pushed for more.
I thought that I could be better. And harder. And right.
And that was before the strokes.
Back when the world was simple.
So now the body doesn’t work quite right.
My mind is slower and has to work so much harder.
And I will swear until my dying day that my perspective has made my life that much better.
At least now, I have a reason for lousy math skills.
Right. Harder. Better.