All these little flaws
That you see in my design,
Can you get rid of them
If they’re so easy to find?
I’m not perfect, but I’m horribly designed.
All these imperfections built within me
Only keep holding me back from
Being the best person that I can be.
I wonder if I can give you the keys
To control my thoughts and actions,
Create the perfect me that can please.
Maybe there’s some worth in that.
Reality keeps slipping through my fingers.
I can no longer see what matters to me.
It might be best for someone else to take over.
I’ve done nothing meaningful with these hands of mine.
The darkness where I can fade into calls me.
I could take one more step and be gone.
I don’t have to worry about how I was designed,
Because all the imperfections will disappear.
A POETIC PERSPECTIVE ON
IMPERFECTION AND PERFECTION
The wabi sabi
Of our lives today, reflect
God’s healing grace:-
Perfection on earth
Must never be desired here:
This is not heaven:-
Being the best you can
Here on earth, just may send you
Up to heaven’s door:-
What haunted me the most, was the myth of clean.
Soap with its pale arrogance, its perfume of forgiveness.
Water pretending to be neutral, pretending it could rinse a history.
As if purity were mechanical.
As if turning a handle could unmake a person.
As if the stain were not the self.
It hurts—
because you believed the lie.
It feels unreal—
because truth feels heavy.
In a world full of flaws...
why chase perfection?
You—
were never meant to be perfect,
only real.
And that alone—
makes you enough.
It hurts—
because you believed the lie.
It feels unreal—
because truth feels heavy.
In a world full of flaws...
why chase perfection?
You—
were never meant to be perfect,
only real.
And that alone—
makes you enough.
.
yourn 'neath mine
green cloak
burly
young lady
')>
IN AND OF UPLIFTING ERRED FEELINGS
Though we are of God,
We are not, in no way, God:
In no way are we perfect–
No matter how hard we try:-
It’s true: to err is human;
To forgive divine:-
Thus, let us be
As we must:-
No matter what depth
We may sink into,
God will always forgive,
And raise us back up:-
FLAWED VESSEL
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am a flawed vessel,
cracked in places
leaking light and shadow
in equal portion
If you look at a still pond,
you’ll see your reflection,
but it’s more vivid or unclear to see
because it is not meant for showing your reflection.
A mirror was created for that job,
but why do people like to see their reflection in water
when it’s not as clear as a mirror?
Because, at the end,
people like the imperfect thing
in which they see goodness.
Dear Future Boyfriend
I may not be perfect to love,
Jealous when I see you with others,
Sad when you come home late,
Scared when you're not taking my calls—
But every beat of my heart still whispers your name.
Hey future boyfriend, I may not look bothered
When you do things that hurt—
That's because everything you do is not new.
I'm used to being by myself,
So silence became my shield.
But don’t mistake my strength for not caring.
I still hope for someone gentle and true—
A love that feels like home, not a battlefield.
I remind myself daily of my worth,
And I pray, that when we meet,
You’ll love me with the same softness I offer you.
Dear Future Boyfriend
I may not be perfect to love,
Jealous when I see you with others,
Sad when you come home late,
Scared when you're not taking my calls—
But every beat of my heart still whispers your name.
Hey future boyfriend, I may not look bothered
When you do things that hurt—
That's because everything you do is not new.
I'm used to being by myself,
So silence became my shield.
But don’t mistake my strength for not caring.
I still hope for someone gentle and true—
A love that feels like home, not a battlefield.
I remind myself daily of my worth,
And I pray, that when we meet,
You’ll love me with the same softness I offer you.
IMPERFECT ROSE*
the imperfect rose,
once vivacious and colorful under the summer sun,
its petals are now wilted, its colors faded and gone.
its time has passed
its dance is done.
the imperfect rose cries many petals,
last vestiges of her beauty wait for the wind to carry them to their rest.
each petal papery and thin
lies on the lush green grass, its veins blushing
glowing pink in the setting sun and to silence it doth humbly acquiesce.
even in decay, the imperfect rose holds a certain grace,
a reminder of glory days now past.
rose petals may be temporary
but are eternal in memories of love and sharing
enough to weather the storm, to outlast.
the imperfect rose
has thorns that make one bleed.
forgive the rose of its imperfections with compassion
for of her thorns the imperfect rose doth gladly concede~
we are all petals of imperfection, might you accede?
*Note:I originally posted this poem at Poetry Soup in June 2025 then deleted it. It’s my original creation and was not plagiarized (poetrysoup.com/poem/imperfect_rose_1738035)
May we be blessed when it come to life…
to be of this perception:
That there is so much beauty
to be found in imperfection.
Washed adrift, unable to reach the floating shoreline,
Lost in a sea of bitter loneliness.
Saline-soaked clothes stick to weary bones.
You become just a mere mirage under the intensifying sun.
Parched lips quiver,
Yet no tears can escape splintering eyes.
Lungs burn with every stroke of exhausted arms.
How much longer can I keep myself afloat?
I haven’t slept in what feels like eons,
Yet I can’t be sure, as these endless days merge with delusional nights.
No longer can I hold onto the hope that your love will see me,
Save me from drowning in an unforgiving abyss.
Eventually, the suffering will become unbearable,
And my blistered skin will sink,
Whilst my body finds its watery grave within the Twilight Zone.
All because I failed to see that your heart was replaced with calcified sulfur so long ago.
This is not a poem; this is a piece of my soul.--by writer
Yes, I string words into poems--
At least that’s what I think they are,
In this language I was not born with but acquired.
Every word and phrase is a labor on my part.
You may say I’m too ambitious
To dabble in versification when I don’t even know rhyme.
Forgive me--I just enjoy seeing pieces of my soul
Inked on a page. Thus, if you find any imperfection
Know that they are just as I am;
And just as I am, they
Are all I have to offer. So when you read
A poem of mine you are actually partaking of myself--
My innermost thoughts, my most guarded
Emotions, my dreams--all displayed at your mercy.
8th Place
My Truths Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.