- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Imperfections
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Click hereLittle parts of me,
That aren’t “right”,
My medals that I show,
For a hard life,
Without these imperfections,
I simply wouldn’t be the same,
And if I simply wasn’t me,
I probably wouldn’t know,
How to play the “game”.
A scar on my hand that I got,
For playing with a cat,
That only wanted to fight.
A scar on my knee,
That was the result,
Of running down a ramp,
And going for a slide.
A scar on my leg,
That I got for running into a cage,
In the dark playing spotlight,
When mum said not to.
These marks simply show,
That I’m not perfect,
Nor do I want to be,
Being perfect would mean,
Matching outfits, neat hair,
Things that in the end would be unachievable,
I simply like being me too much.
- COMMENTS
LeBrozover 17 years agoThese are marks of perfection, of a life well lived;
Unlike the perfect model exuding perfection in all she says, looks, and does,
And has a soul quite dead.
duddle146over 17 years agoSatisfied - with herself she'll stay the same ~ likes being herself too much. I find your last stanza simple beautiful.
