Conception as it may,
Will lead to only dismay.
For only it to be complete,
Incompleteness holds.

these stories we wear –

scars,
stretchmarks,
wrinkles,

are wrongly labelled
as imperfections.

but aren’t they such beautiful,
courageous signs
of how we have lived?

the glass stood tall once.  
       smooth, untouched,    
               shaped to expectation.  

then came the fall.  
the slip,  
         the drop,  
                 the ruin.  

hands hovered over the wreckage,  
  whispers of what was,  
    what could have been,  
       what will never be again.  

    no one wanted the pieces.  
           no one knew what to do with them.  
                they stared, they sighed, they left.  

      but someone stayed.  
             or maybe no one did, maybe just the dust.  
                    just the dust, and the silence, and the weight of absence.  

gold is a lie they tell to make it bearable.  

   it does not erase the cracks.  
      it does not restore what was lost.  
         it only makes the breaking visible.

   not untouched,  
           not perfect,  
                   but standing.  

   they call it beauty,  
             but it is only survival.  
                      they call it art,  
                                 but it is only memory.  

       if light filters through the seams,  
             does it mean it is still breaking?

In the dance of chaos and calm, they found their perfect blend, She, tired of perfection, seeking havoc without end.

He, weary of his stormy life, craving peace so pure, Together, they formed a bond, an alliance sure.

In a world of idyllic facades, their imperfections shone bright,
She yearning for the messy, he seeking respite from the
night.

Her path of self-destruction, a U-turn profound, He, the calm in her storm, a solace she found. Their love, a whirlwind of chaos and peace combined, She lost in his tempest, in his chaos entwined.

He, finding tranquility in her tumultuous embrace, Together, unstoppable, in love's enchanting grace. Through trials and tribulations, their love stood strong, An angel and a demon, where they truly belong.

In a world of contrasts, they found their peace, A love story for the ages, a love that will not cease.

@nolongerumano

Dear imperfect me,
You are your own, just be.
You wrestle with insecurity,
that you can't settle peacefully.
Dear imperfectly,
The way you are is how you're meant to be.

Don't close your eyes and pretend you can't see,
Cos when you do, you're missing free
dom, and the richness; vibrancy,
of what it means to be living, see!

  Dear imperfect me,
The devil wants you to be devastatingly,
lonely, to isolate yourself from me,
to run around, head cut off, me.
But dear imperfect me,
there's no such thing as superiority,
it's just what we do when we are achingly,
small inside, and out, dumb wittingly,
disconnected from reality.
Such a waste; insecurity, obligatory shame, we accept begrudgingly.

  Dear imperfect me,
Can we try something new, happily?
Can we live more peacefully,
seeing ourselves progressively?
As beauty wrapped, uniquely!
As unsentimentally evolving.

  Dear imperfectly perfect me,
You are, you are, who you're meant to be,
For now, until you're not; key!
Grab this truth wholeheartedly.