Where I Live

Reality seems like an awfully tough place to live.

There's always love, yeah, there's that.

But it couples with violence and hurt.

The attrition of the world is starkly vibrant there

compared to where I live

in the back of my mind.

There's an imagination inside me.

Could be argued it's clouding my view

but I'd like to admit

it's coloring it, rather.

My world is alive in the most

beautiful shades of joy.

And sure the realists may tell me

you can't always live in your own

imagined ideals.

But why live in reality

if I don't have to?

I like it here.