People are so pretty and I feel so happy to see this, so proud of anyone. But people are pretty and it makes me feel embarrassed. I have flaws, but not the good kinds. These flaws aren’t pretty. and I do things that don’t make sense, and I keep things to myself, and I stare for hours, and I have to sit on my hands to control them, and I have problems. But I have flaws that are the good kinds, bright and obscured: encased in fog; they swirl through my mind under all my words, but sometimes they slip underneath my tongue, (maybe when I’m drunk,) , There is magic in me and when I find it, I will let you know.