Less Than Perfect


Your eyes say

it’s gonna be okay,

but your right hand holds


and your left hand

reaches backwards,

hanging on

to ghosts

and other

dead things.


I would ask you “Why?”,

but the reason

is etched

plain upon your face,

like those Greek statues

you admired

for their symmetry.

You called them,

“Perfect beings.”,

but I could see

the cracks in the marble

that you ignored.


Maybe it was mercy.

Maybe it was compassion,

but part of me believes

that if you acknowledged

they were something

less than perfect,

then you

would have to acknowledge

the flaws inside yourself.


We both know

we did a lot of wrong.

And we both

did our best

to carry on.

Neither one of us

truly free

from those apparitions

of yesterday.


Whatever we claim;

be it perfection,

or uncertainty,

we still hold

destruction in our hands

and we need

to find a way

to put it down.


The world is a crazy place,

full of artists,

and masters,

like those sculptors

you so admire.

Maybe that is perfection

and I’m projecting

my fears into the stone.

We aren’t perfect,

but we can let go

of yesterday

and destruction.



HG – 2022

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