What is best for us
is not what we want,
though we speak it, memorize it,
paint it on our lives like a mandala.

We are yoked with the belief that
what is best
will be our reward,
a safety net in One Size Fits All,
Hallelujah.

But the parameters of
what is best
fit us like a hand-me-down jacket
from a dead relative,
musty,
and a little snug at the shoulders.
A garment we inevitably leave
on the third row seat
of a cross-town bus.

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