"a list of wrong with life"

My eyes aren’t as good as they used to be,
but keener I think
for what I've come to see.
The flaw’s what I’ve always been keenest on
- there’s no way to right
like finding wrong.

But I’m never ambitious.
I’m shameless, too.
I only find out ’cause it's cool to know.
You hold things right-size? Get them up
right-way held?
You can ring a guitar
just like playing a bell.

Still let’s take it as granted, an exercise:
it could be somehow good
to list wrongs with life.
It could be somehow right
to lay out all the bads.
And not to appreciate
goods you’ve had!

No, to see what the bads and the wrongs
have to teach!
Like some educational trip to the beach,
like you did as a kid: in a fun place,
to learn.
At the least,
you won’t have
to avert sunburn.

So what’s wrong: I still write
to no purpose of earthly reward
or renown.

That’s okay, I don’t kid myself
I could have found.
That takes luck, and hard work
and desire for that.

And I’d much rather pet the cat.
And I don’t even have a cat.

I still hate yard work, which
I used to love, somehow. I know
that I need to get that back.
I still have to poop - which some think
is a burdensome lifelong slavery
to the bowels, which is funny.
How much that attitude stinks!

I still rhyme, but indifferently.
I could carelessly drop
off or near, or entirely free.
I don’t really have all that much respect
for meter, either. Or authority.

Potential can only fulfill in success,
and success cannot be any other’s goal
- but one you desire, and set. And bless.
It’s okay to help someone dig their own hole,
but a shame if you’re digging their hole
for yourself!

There’s a difference between living your life
to help, and acting out others’ dreams
in hell, while they sit in the wings
and the halos and sing you on.

Your purpose is yours, or it’s wrong.

I am too far content, perhaps
with what’s good. Some call it
“just good enough, that’s all”
yet much of the time goes entirely
without flaw.
And you know
what that means, y’all.

Is perfect indifferent to better?
Perhaps. To what some think I should
or could easily gain? To fill in the gaps
that cause them pain, sympathetically
speaking from cautious brain
and empathy-laden breaking heart?

Oh that’s a bit much. No one’s heart
breaks for me, but perhaps would just love
to see me seize
some improvements?
That they’d like to name and choose?

Things they know I could be, which people
like to be and to do. Then they’d be
very proud for pointing out. I’d share
in their joy for sure, no doubt! And someday I might!

No that’s just a stall
I put out, ’til the chance
I don’t want can pass. And I can relieve myself
in good sigh, for one and for all.

There are many things wrong, by
some peoples’ lights.

I feel such relief this is not their life.