"imperfectionist" poems
Words mean a lot, though miss used a lot
And so I thought why not, type-out my thoughts
At the age of twenty, I fought a lot and I lost
Submitted to reality, thanks to life for this munity
I quarrel with this world to find my golden state, but
Even in the golden age, this imperfect being still remains
Yes I grow with age, learn from my mistakes
Expelling all the weeds, growing and suffocating this angelic
Creation
So when I wake-up,
stare at mirror, moisture my skin with perfumed lotion
With the attempt to adorn this temple...
Close to Goodness yet far from purity
at times I may be white, till my robe is painted with mud
I'm only human, and yes I fall, but get back up
This life is rough, behind the smiles and all the love
Remain deep scars, this life is tough, but I still laugh
Endure the harsh times, and all the storms
If I be iron this structure would be corroded
Filled with rust, burying, who I really am All my imperfections, lust lack of trust, sometimes lack of love, and all the scars can taint my soul
Flawless Imperfectionist
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 9:09 AM UTC
Post cards cannot build a body
it took me too long to realize this
I thought I could write love letters and somehow the words would come off the page and make me real again
but you cannot build a body with stationary seasoned by my perfume alone
it took over 14 almost near the edge could have should have been but weren't breakups
for me to realize her eyes did not shine galaxies for me anymore
that when she stared at me she no longer saw an imperfectionist's masterpiece
the replication of her own self, a carbon copy printed from too much time spent together
ink fused molecules made fingerprints through my fingertips,
but instead of a distinctly swirled thumbprint,
I saw only an oval shaped splotch that was supposed to represent me,
like I just slit myself open and let ink pour from my veins,
let me tell you that does not make you anymore real than the hypnotic pattern spelled out on those letters
I finally realized that as much as I loved her, I love myself more
that those galaxies that went darker than her pupils dimmed out because she could not find the strength to love me anymore
that these calloused hands of mine could no longer intertwine with hers
because my anxiety caused them to tremble far too much for her liking,
that when I offered my palms up to her one last time she cast them aside and insisted she could write scrawling calligraphy from her own ink
when I closed my eyes, I couldn’t see her quill rowing waves on blank paper,
I only saw her tipping over the well of black tar onto my own,
and every time I try and purge the shimmering oil from my page,
I only end up past my elbows in her mess
for hours, I scrub and scratch at the skin on my arms hoping that somehow I can remove her from my body,
but all my attempts end in vain, because she’s made her way into my veins,
and I cannot let her out
because every time I try and write her off,
all that comes out of me is tainted ink.
Nov 19, 2015
Nov 19, 2015 at 6:47 PM UTC
i am fine
as heaven..
it's spelt upon my bones
with the safest flesh upon em
i feel it gazing into the mirror
then i whisper my kisses
as i adore and marvel..
....."this is perfected.."
the imperfectionist is you
look at what you've done
you broke me so well
i see the pieces in my eyes
weighing from my beaten heart
as i comfort my left cheek
with my right palm..
i want to write about you
..like my ego were yours
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 4:22 AM UTC
Woke up
Laundry pile bed
stepped on a tack
messy floor
cereal
spilled milk
don't cry
made coffee
spilled sugar
ants
well ****
got dressed
shirt
backwards and inside out
brushed my teeth
not pearly quite
close though
messy bun
not quite cat eye
liner
shoes on the wrong feet
no I'm not that dumb
skate down the street
feeling
comfortably numb
not listening or watching
*****
fell on a rock
scraped my knee
blood
I'm an imperfectionist
Feb 19, 2017
Feb 19, 2017 at 10:48 PM UTC