Poem from Sophomore Year

Fri, 09/06/2013 - 19:53 -- Abi

My mom calls me perceptive

because I’m good at finding the cracks in the plaster

but in the end I’m no faster

when it comes to determining the truth

in every façade.

What I mean to say is I’m a lot like you

in that I want you to think so

and in the end we all want to convince each other

that we’re nothing more than puzzle pieces

still looking for the right fit.

I’ve started spending most of my time

with my ear pressed against the wall

because even though I know it’s pointless

I keep hoping to hear someone say I’m beautiful.

I am beautiful

but no matter how fast I run I keep missing

the person I want to be remembered for.

There is no space in this insincere reality

for profound comments about the relativity of perfection.

We all know it’s unattainable

so we’re just getting better at hiding our faults,

which is to say that society is a slice of Swiss cheese

blaming you for the fact that its riddled with holes.

I once thought that being honest would rid me of this disease

but truthfulness is nothing more than talking in contradictions

and in the end I’m just another girl

afraid to get up in the morning

because she doesn’t know who she’ll see in the mirror.

I just can’t seem to lie in my poetry

because I’ve come to find

that poetry is the art of forgetting

all your favorite hiding places in the heart

of a game of hide and seek,

except nobody seems to be seeking.

We are too busy

masking ourselves in the belief of belonging when people

are not objects, puzzle pieces, mismatched parts of a set—

we can’t belong anywhere.

I’m working on a theory that perfection

isn’t meant to be created.

It’s just hiding in each of us

waiting to be found

and all we really have to do

is open our eyes wide enough.

I hope we can remember each other as we are:

beautiful.

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