My Own Image
I am not done
The changes are not complete
Terrible, atrocious, it is not up to standard
My standards
I must begin again,
For the sketch has been ruined, smudged
Another pencil
A new eraser
Again and again I remake the image,
When the smallest details falls out of place
Once again it is destroyed
Entirely changed, until,
Finally
It is perfect
And now it speaks to me
To all who lay eyes upon it,
It speaks simple words,
In a hidden language few can understand;
I am reborn with a new life
Once more
This poem is about:
Me