Imperfection: Poetry From The Heart

Imperfection: Poetry From The Heart

Who defines your imperfections?
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Free verse poetry is something that I have always enjoyed. It has no rules, and everything goes. This poem is one that I have recently written, and I think a lot of us can relate to it.

IMPERFECTIONS


Passing--dribbling--sprinting--shooting--scoring--teamwork--basketball our way of life.

I never did anything to deserve your fiery words and hateful spirit that burn like a forest fire out of control in the desert sun of California. Dribbling your words carefully so no one had the chance to take the ball out of your court.

You pushed, poked, and prodded into my life and positioned your posture in a place that you could pretend to listen to all my problems and prove to the world that I wasn’t powerful or perfect

I was just a peasant at best pushing me to my proper place as you passed the lies of my personality to each person at practice.

My existence a source of collateral damage. You wanted me to suffer and stand silently sobbing to myself so still and at a loss for words,

Suffocating on societal standards so structured they couldn’t be swayed to save me.

I stood up and stared into my soul and saw something I never thought I would

I saw your reflection in the shattered glass,

I saw the salty tears roll down your pale face.

I reached out to feel the realness of your being, but you were just a cruel creation of my imagination. A friend I once fought for, a teammate I ran sprints with when you got in trouble for being late.

You turned my name into a game, one in which was fun for a while but you eventually left behind like the bad players that got cut from our team. But as I open my eyes I realize that I

I am just like YOU.

I turn people’s flaws into what you had done, fun, because we are both so tired of trying to be flawless.

Fear focusing on what everyone will finally see. This basketball team stands as a unit bonded like a family, but once we bring ourselves in we lose a lot more than a championship game.

I sprinted and got yelled at like everyone else, what made my practice so different from yours? Where did I go wrong? Why is it that this world wastes time while we continue to wield the webs in which we have always woven wondering when we will no longer wilt at the mention of our imperfections,

Walking away waiting for that wonderful time when our senses are awoken and our uniqueness is welcomed. Worried that if we don’t we won’t reach what we were made for, we might wave goodbye at an opportunity in which we will never know, just like how

I don’t know you.



The reality is that poetry so often affects us in ways that maybe we had never thought of before. Insecurity is something that everyone has faced in their life; people react to it differently. We have all been there, and I think the point is that it is ok to be imperfect, it is what makes us human. We are the only ones that define our flaws. Redefine how you look at yourself and stop looking to others for clarification.

Cover Image Credit: Flickr

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