Madeshift

I've walked one hundred miles
in faulty shoes that you created
I don't blame you,
knowing(ingly) I made the strangeness
that hung high over everything
and that induced it
to be makeshift
but I madeshift
it
all results then were shoddy
of everything we produced
like all the tools you gave me
to walk away, from you
all things except
the happiness it made
me
so I did everything for you
like turn my cheek
the ones you made
just like all of my imperfections
something bearable

created by a god
gone lazy
and gave us some things
(deservingly) makeshift
but our skin was bearable
when someone else made it so;
liked it so much
I guess my praise just lasted
without reassurance or renewal
(you know it's still here
inside of me)
yours is expired,
and very much gone