small steps (because the big ones are impossible) in poetry

it’s a pretty ugly world we’re in
but it’s not quite ugly enough
there’s this thin veneer of beauty
there’s a thinner veneer of tough
that make us pretend we’re perfect
lie worse when the going gets rough
it’s a pretty ugly world we’re in
so we have to get over some stuff
there will be no revolution
there will be no lottery win
there will be no final vindication
nor neat absolution of our sins
there will be no retributions
there was never a way to “win”
but help ahead of grand solutions
it’s a pretty ugly world we’re in
admitting we are all imperfect
is the only place to begin