perfect imperfection

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
auto biography style poem.. emotional, graceful, and hopefully inspirational

Submitted: August 07, 2017

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Submitted: August 07, 2017



Restlessly still she sat with her thoughts, listening to the sounds of comforting bellowing creeping out of her stereo. The lyrics sliced through her flesh. They drew out her hidden miseries. Miseries suppressed by the counting of clocks. By the rise and fall of the sun. The sound stung with a familiar taste. The bitter sting she avoided every moment that would allow her to. The depth of her despair was bottomless. Covered with fine sheets of delicate cottons. Gently waving as though they were to lift at any moment and expose the sheltered circus that hid below. She examined pain within music. She inhaled it and felt the cold, burn flow through her like she were an empty hollow cave. It was a cruel, comfortable, stabbing sensation she enjoyed. “Take me home” her heart repeated. A needle stuck clawing an old dusty record. Jumping back to the same words continuously. That home was long lost and unknown. She could feel glimpses of it like a forgotten dream. Like a word stuck on the tip of her tongue she felt the memory of a place she belonged. She knew for sure it was not here. Somewhere beyond her last breath perhaps, or before her first. She yearned for the heat of an illusionary embrace that she had never known. Not her mothers caress, nor her fathers approving smile. Still cold. A lover to fill her emptiness? Being overly, completely, understood. Every corner of her being. Every angle, every side, every curve, every crevice. She had convinced herself as a child this was a certainty she would find when she were to stumble across the special one. Her soul mate. She wished upon every star in the sky that he would come and save her from herself. Still she waits watching the hours tick by. The megabytes run out. The passengers debark from the carriage. She dreamt of solutions to her madness. Of delusions. Of religious Epiphanies and philosophies, scientific explanations and medical examinations. She filled herself, she emptied herself. She borrowed from the smiles of wondering faces searching for answers behind their eyes. She crawled into the tears of lovers and wiped them away with her gentle kisses. She lifted herself up, one wobbly rung at a time. Balancing on the foreheads of those who would let her. She fell as she met their weaknesses. The misplaced trust she had in their false super human strength. She listened to melodies that nestled her like a baby bird in there nest. Unable to fly, left alone. Without direction, helpless yet warm and cosy sheltered from the elements. She was desperate to feel each moment. She watched leaves dance in the rhythm of the wind. She inhaled there composition. She trances on oxygen devouring flames. She saw faces in shadows and bodies floating in gas masses in the blue oceans above. She entertained herself with stories from friends and strangers, their turmoil’s and triumphs. She rehearsed lines as though she was the lead role in a theatrical play. She rewrote the script to suit her audience and watched to see who was going to stay for the second part of the show. Their interest sparked her confidence. She felt success in pinning down her listeners She created boards with visions of what she could fill her life with in the hope they would console her. Ideas and projects to direct her, to distract her to involve her on her quest for purpose. The scent of her salty streams made it easy for those also saddened to relate to her. The wandering searched her eyes for connection, for acceptance and direction. She tried to fulfil their desires. To feed their bottomless hunger. She was proud and embarrassed. A strong ant. A beautiful fly. A drifting hypocrisy. An intelligent idiot. An uneducated professor. Ideas without words to express. A gutter mouthed nun. Spilling foul language during her drunken sermons. She dreamt of living a life beyond the earthed plane. She competed with her imperfection. She drowned in it. She surfed through waves of contentment and dragged through the rips of her own restlessness. She searched for truth like she was a pirate looking for buried treasure. Convinced if only she knew which way to hold the map that eventually she would find it. She dug for purpose with tired determination like it was buried on the other side of the planet. She wanted to feel everything there was to feel with a sense non existent to the human mind yet she screamed to feel nothing. To be numb like a rock. To be hard and motionless like so many she had met before. She could convince herself at times that she was capable of this. Breath in, hold it, don't exhale. She spent many toxin filled years chasing away her misunderstood desires. Her shameful unhappiness. She punished herself with displeased anguish. She belted herself hard for not staying within the outline to which she should be restricted. To which she should fill. She fell upon moments where she could escape from herself by clouding her mind with chemical rushes. Her body felt alive. Alive like she could never know while her mind was present. She loved the arts. The desire to empty herself of her heart break, her mind ache. The need always grew stronger. To release. On paper, on canvas, through tunes and harmony. Tapping her tension onto keys, weaving her sorrows through melody. The emotional ride that was her existence. Her core. She despised those who tried to change her. Improve her. Mould her into their idea of who they thought she should be. She was not theirs to mould, to chisel, to erase. She shrunk, she grew. She forgot then she knew. She never stopped searching. She never bowed out. The pain was always lurking. Her desire for greatness was strong. Greatness within herself. For herself. She was never content but found contentment in her discontentment. She found acceptance in her ocean. She sailed through it when the seas were calm, and held on tight when she was being thrown around. She was multifaceted. She was, she is, forever, perfectly imperfect.

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