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
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