Please remember, imperfection does not mean incompetent. Your flaws do not define you.
Poem 79 of 365 –
It’s not a spotless white sheet.
There are already spots of black ink.
At first I thought the water was clean
But it’s still too polluted to drink.
It’s not a perfect blank slate,
As much as I’d like to convince myself.
It’s a lamb, and I’m offering it up to hell.
What do you think of me now?
It’s not a clear glass jar
You can see what’s inside
This dirty, treacherous heart of mine.
There’s nothing here worth keeping.
It’s a white sheet of paper,
And I’m soaking it with my ink
Is there anything redeemable
About a paper ship that sinks?