I have set my norm,
as writing to what is my comfort.
But today,
I decided to take an unknown path.
Today,
I will tell
how wonderful it is to be imperfect.

"Save it for your blog"
But dear friend,
it needs to be heard.
Perhaps,
the only way some will listen,
is through rhythmic lines.

Lay down.
Close your eyes.
Now tell me,
what is the definition of perfection.
Being tall?
Skinny?
Have perfect grades?
Popular?

You,
yes you.
Tell me your ideal "perfection."
Now you,
yes you over there.
What is your ideal image of being oh so perfect?

Both of you now give your attention.
Would you believe,
that both their definitions we not in accord?
What a concept.
How we as humans,
get strung up on the concept,
of being the "ideal human."
When in reality,
how can we create the concept of "perfection" if we all give it different definitions?

What is your greatest fear?
Your weakness?
It is okay,
say it in a whisper.
I am here to inform,
not pass judgement.

Now you,
yes ALL of you.
Tell me your talents.
Shout them to the sky.
Tell me what you find your greatest feature.
Flaunt it.

Let me tell you a little secret,
if you could not already tell above all the yells of pride,
every single person named something DIFFERENT.
You.
You.
And YOU.
You are magnificent.
Beautiful.
Your flaws and weaknesses,
make up something imperfect.
Something wonderfully imperfect.
Something that is you.
All of you.

Here's a thought, if imperfect is just as being perfect?
And we're all imperfect,
then we all must be..

Perfect.

When did I ***** these parameters,
From which I can't escape
Since when did I hem myself in so tightly
That I can't breathe, that I refuse to let myself be
I made rules for myself
To deter myself from getting hurt
But these rules are suffocating me,
Suffocating my autonomy
What happened to the days when I proclaimed boldly
That I would grow up to be just like Amelia Earheart
Fearlessly flying beyond any limitations
Until I am boundless,
Beyond the limitation of my body
Why has the trauma of adolescence and the uncertainty of adulthood
Made me such a calculated, cynical being,
Begging the ineffable for meaning?
Digging for the answers of what I'm supposed to be
Can females be forward and pursue their dreams?
Without the fantasy of a man who would provide stability
I guess the world has made me scared
Of the reality of being a woman
That wanting a man
Feels like a necessity, like a security blanket,
Or a gun
To ward off these crimes against womanhood
But it's really a flaw in perspective,
Women may be the victim of ****** oppression,
Being used as flesh mannequins to penetrate and beat,
A weaker vessel on which to release the pent up rage of the patriarchy
But I shall persist, nonetheless,
For when the whole world is against me
I rise
I've been a victim for too long
But in my victimhood I have found that I am strong
And that the only security I need
Is this relentless heart,
Living for a cause
So that maybe oneday, more people's eyes will be open to see,
And soon we'll just be able to breathe
Without all this trauma and worldwide unease
Death has become defeated,
So, I must live without parameters,
I must be fearless.

•<>•
the addicted pleasure words granted to we privileged few,
like every enslaved soul to the mind, which I am, I am,
evening dreams, midnight thinkings, sunrise seeings,
how can I infect and thus protect the young to the liberty
to love the crafted content of our human essence to better
comprehend that a moment caught on tape of our shared
words is a holiday, a celebration for the ages,
scar of pleasure, a forehead Cain mark, scarlet letter of pride,
for this reliving of our stories retelling is the skipped beat
of our connection not born from practical reason,
but from truths we own equally and though reason says
mine, it is not, it is only to be yours when the sharing
resonates resonates resonates resonates resonates
and every molecule, becomes a human tuning fork
in concert, in pitch identical, in blood tainted with
the simplicity of we are all the same, only words, this will transmit

                                          July 4th, 2017
                                                •<>•

"If you spend enough time reading or writing, you find a voice, but you also find certain tastes. You find certain writers who when they write, it makes your own brain voice like a tuning fork, and you just resonate with them. And when that happens, reading those writers … becomes a source of unbelievable joy. It’s like eating candy for the soul."
And I sometimes have a hard time understanding how people who don’t have that in their lives make it through the day.
David Foster Wallace