The Price of Picky

The wickedness of life

Comes with no cost,

Yet the price of picky

Can make us lost.

Picky can’t guide

Us to happiness we seek

As the life we were given

Did not come cheap.

I breathe air consumed

By the worst of faces

Who have no regard

For other spaces.

Surrounded by strangers

Latching to pain

Exhibiting angers

With no refrain.

 But I can’t afford

A life of sorrow.

For I’ll be happy

To wake tomorrow.