it occurred to me one day
that it’s making me sick
this place
the people the noise the distance the pace

I have miles to walk in my sleep each day
and each night I repeat all my habits and prayers
I have trouble recalling the words that I say
and my tidiness is only an evidence of chaos

I perform my role in the most precise way
just to be part of this ideal parade
I keep up really well that’s what everyone says
my efficiency is a model of other people’s stress

but no matter what I do I keep missing out
on all the fun and the love because I stick to my doubts
on all the contentment because comparison is my art
and I learned to be perfectionist I learned it by heart

I need a break from all the striving
and this is not the place to find it
I need a change of scenery
a lonesome one
a gentle one
a quiet one
to be