Perfection is such a fickle thing
So relative, a new normal
Tell me why you like yourself and I can’t provide an answer,
Look for things in me I don’t shove away in a drawer, come up with words like
Because I am not afraid of so many brave things but I am terrified of others
She’s always a woman,
Shades of good and bad
Imperfectly beautiful in her way
I walk a high wire of letting myself be human.
I watch the trees outside move in the breeze.
Their new blossoms flow lazy and smooth.
This month moves faster than I ever thought it could,
And for the first time I do not look into the mouth of that lion called change,
As May ushers itself in.
Life is long and short,
And springtime is here in all it’s glory before I’ve really bid winter goodbye.
I watch the very first blooms of bleeding hearts in the backyard sway in the wind.
They are me, beautiful in our imperfection.