I am incomplete, and always trying to achieve
the ever constantly changing picture
of the best me possible-
and for all my faults along the way
my intentions always started out good.
I am a callow girl with what feels
like a shattered heart over strangers and soul mates alike,
feeling broken and adventurous over
what seems like mountains at the moment
but will probably be molehills
I am a soul with a self prejudiced view
that unfairly criticizes every part of the detestable being
that challenges me in the mirror,
who always prayed to find someone that was amazed by
the curve of my thoughts
before the curve of my legs.
I am both my four p.m. laughter
and my four a.m. sobs
wrapped up all in the same skin that has touched and been held
and felt on a spectrum of sensations,
yet still wishes to shed all of it
and start over.
I am a mystery that has accepted that it may never be solved-
a time bomb
that doesn't know what could set it off-
always missing one piece
(yet not always the same piece)
in the most satisfying way.
I am a paintbrush still
hesitant to pick a color
and finish the picture with it,
but not afraid to go back and perfect all
the minute details of it for the hundreth time.
I am a flower still in bloom,
searching and stretching
for the brightest patch of sunshine possible
without blocking out a different flower
from their own light.