free write | 8/4/16
i am not perfect
but i am not defined by perfection
nor am i chasing it.
perfection has no room to fit the sharp edges i am made of,
that i am proud of.
perfection is boring.
i am flawed.
a constant work in progress.
i am no Mona Lisa.
she could never be me.
she doesn’t have the stomach to face down the bears
that have found me in my forest
and threatened to take the life from my body.
she could not force their retreat by screaming to the sky
mona lisa lives behind a protection i’ve never had.
in a glass house
in a glass room
i am not delicate enough
i’ve shattered too many ceilings to be