I do not fit
I like minimalism.
When I see homily clutter I like it.
I like rock music with big heavy guitars.
When I hear quiet melodies over plucked strings, I’m entranced.
I prefer curvy, buxom women.
When I see a petite girl something stirs in me.
I like order.
I’m happiest in the midst of chaos.
I am tidy and orderily.
When I see litter or mess, part of me is taken with it.
I am punctual.
When others are late I envy their abandon.
I like things to match.
When I see clashes of colour, I revel in the impact.
I see beauty where it is obvious.
When I discover hidden beauty my heart explodes.
I do not fit.
Or perhaps the box is just the wrong size?