Being Imperfect

I carry the world on my shoulders but it's heavy, any moment now like a toy building block it will come tumbling down merrily merrily all just a dream, a joy imperfect. To be imperfect is my true joy detached from the dreariness of life no regrets for visions turning sour I stand on a stage acting my roles caring not if I forget my lines. Nothing can tarnish my confidence blunders shrugged off with irreverence my deep play a ruminating ride into casual elegance leavened with an optimistic wariness. Like aging, my competence conceals patches of wrinkles, not to be smoothed into a sense of mediocrity not quite belonging to anyone but myself and I am my own man. @jjote 063021