Portrait


I'm a portrait of imperfection
making mistakes is my best skill -
screaming at inappropriate times
and showing my true skin
when deception would be wiser.
I jump off the cliff

when I should stand my ground -
I remain planted
when soaring is essential.
Always in reverse
my nerves shake me down
I lose myself, and disappear in thin air.

I isolate from family and friends
just to roam with wolves
in utter darkness, heartless and brash:
That's me, impassive and impulsive
a contradiction
rushing towards the dead end
without prudence -
no second thought allowed.

My backyard is a graveyard
full of secrets I carry to my detriment -
solid encumbrances
that preclude progress and promote peril.
My heart is sterile
my toes are numb
from trudging unforgiving terrains.
A perfect journey for a crooked soul.

I'm a portrait of imperfection
dropping the ball is my best aptitude
yet I keep an attitude of gratitude
in spite of my deficiencies -
and I trek through the blizzard
chest out, eyes straight
on my way to hear God's judgment
satisfied with my rights and wrongs.

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