I am not composed of numbers and articulate measures

I am not Bach’s masterpiece nor am I a masterpiece

I am covered in blemishes and dirt

I have sinned and I am sin

I have eaten from the forbidden tree

And I am hurt

I am naked to the eyes of all

And downward casts are casted by all

I have risen from the ashes

Like Lazarus I am reborn

I bare scars but they adorn

My flaws engrave my heart

Without them I am without art

I am a drawing board for feelings

A shadow of anguish a cough of disgust

Ashes decorate my body

And fill my lungs with beauty

I am neither a ballad nor a poem

I am a flawless image, a pile of dust