Picking My Nose
You were right, I do pick my nose.
On the train home, late at night,
I dig for treasure.
And yes sometimes I raise my voice and sigh at your pace of life.
But all these things are signs of love:
It’s the ugliness that we let each other see.
Because you’re the only person I want to witness picking their nose.
You’re the only person I want to pester when we’re late for birthday parties,
and I’m crazy and you’re sad and the world seems scary and full of
madness and shadow.
But you show me your ugly and I’ll show you mine.
And together our ugly is beautiful because it means we try,
it means we care, it means we love.
Because when I pick my nose, it’s you that I’m thinking of.