The poetry of someone hopeful.

Baking for the soul

The life is like cooking a batch of cookies with a blindfold on.
One would need to try the recipe a million times before it reaches perfection.
The same can be said for life, burnt cookies and burnouts, bad biscuits and bad eggs.
The difference, is that we as small meaningless creatures can only try once.

Some hit it right on the mark, and their life is the perfect Balance of melted chocolate and chewy cookie.
Some, are born with the balance laid out before them, the recipes of old guiding them along.

But there are many, so many who end up burnt by the merciless oven, lead to dark crispy depths. The only way to carry on is to pile on the frosting and hope no one can see the ash crumbling from your from your form.

The same can be said for life.
Though like life some tend to favour the burnt, ignoring the sharp pain caused the burnt confection. Focusing only on the few tasty drops of chocolate, their only tastes of happiness dependant on a unknowing and uncaring hand that had dropped the dark cocoa into the mixture.

Some can be content this way, locked in charred and blackened ovals, praying for the shell to break so that they might experience the kind nothingness that would follow.
But remember, you are not alone, we are all burnt cookies in the batch, you simply need to look past the face, the perfect crust. Look deeper and you will find we are all imperfectly perfect.
And unfixable and broken.