Three AM

It is three in the morning
and I wish I did not come with too many thorns,
with all of these sharp edges pricking your fingertips.

It is three in the morning
and I wish I taste less bitter,
with sweeter aftertaste that won't leave you nauseated.

It is three in the morning
and I wish I am aesthetically pleasing,
a perfect ratio of softness and fit.

It is three in the morning,
and I wish I smells like all the flowers I know,
far from the scent of war in concrete jungle.

It is three in the morning,
and I wish my voice lulls you to sleep,
a testament of peace and unwavering support

It is three in the morning
and I wish my feet can hurryingly know
how to cross the measure between how I am and how I want to be.