My Soul Doesn't Fit This Life

my soul doesn't fit the shape of this life,

and, darling, believe me, I've tried,

I've added, I've trimmed, I've brightened, I've dimmed,

turned the thing onto its side.

life is like Cinder's fragile glass slipper,

my soul's like her sisters' big feet,

and it all feels so grim when jamming it in,

I'd rather declare my defeat.

I'm letting the soul inside just be,

throwing away these locks,

ironing creases I caused in my piece

from forcing it into the box.

a message to all the unorthodox souls:

just breathe, relinquish the fuss,

I think that it’s time for the mundane and divine

to start moulding their shapes to fit us.