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i caught a glimpse
of your life
i was surprised
to see myself
in it
i was surprised
i like the smell of paper
i like the feel of ink
i like the formation of words
that show what i am thinking
my first poem was born
in 1996
when i was just a kid
i liked the smell of paper
i fell in love with it
you say,
you are not a ******
you say,
you come in peace
but this does not put me at ease.
because you are a man
i am aware of your testosterone
lingering in your blood stream
like alcohol,
in a drunken girl.
while he feeds on her drunken body
like prey.

you say,
you are not a ******
you say,
you mean no harm
but i am a woman,
in a man's world  
and you are a man,
in a ******'s world
so i hear yours words
and approach with caution.
you are a man.
i am perfect at being imperfect
not so perfect at accepting it
i am perfect at being worth it
not so perfect at embracing it
perhaps there are imperfections in perfection
perhaps my perfection is a transaction
in self compassion
perhaps my perfection is a transaction
at first glance you looked perfect
now i know you are not
but who the f*ck,
is perfect?
we've all got history we're ashamed of

so let's both be imperfect
imperfectly in love
because even with your flaws
for me,
you are enough

you can judge me on my past
if you want
but i'm making a better future
because the future's all i've got

so you can crucify me
for my past mistakes
or have the grace,
to give me room to change.
the future's all i've got
what is it about,
west australian poets?
who hide in journals
where the paper smells,

what is it about,
women with poor eye sight?
who wear leggings
-instead of-
who can't help making messes
and sleep until three
because she needs more time to dream

what is about,
women like me?
what is it about west australian poets?
holding up a peace sign
while dodging their land mines
studying the art
of how they fight

with a journal in my left
and a pen in my right
i'm naive enough to think that war could end
but wise enough to know
that there is no hope in pretense

so i'm holding up a peace sign
along with a journal bound in leather
aware that peace signs do not mean surrender

and folks like me,
we tend to fight forever.
we tend to fight forever
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