Confessions of imperfection

I have folded my corners and creased my pages
For those who only wrinkle my spine.
I have broken my teeth on rosaries,
Thinking only my mind could save me
However, the silence of the room
In those dark nights was a piercing sound
That reminded me of funeral bells
And I laughed at the absence of
All that was taught to me.
There have been times where I’ve jammed
Puzzle pieces in the wrong places,
Folded paper cranes to a close enough standard,
Pressed a key into a lock that fit but didn’t turn.
All for making the impression of being
A girl with her seams sewed up,
Her big picture finished and framed,
But nothing has ever fit.
The frame has always been tilted but
I would have just needed to come close.
Why, why have I never stepped a little closer?
I might have had grasped the sense
Of imperfection.

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