Sunday, March 27, 2011
#50 - Perfection Resides in my Head
I am discovering as part of my "Finding Lana" journey that many of my blog friends write poetry and are creative, artistic and amazing. Maybe it is because we have been forced to explore deeper segments of ourselves, this life and everything that spins in circles around us. I have written poetry for as long as I could piece words together. My journals are full of poetry, many poems were written during my worst moments. I also have a warped side of poetry, but it is always written simply and is my own expression of the moment in which I am writing. Here is the latest "Moment in Poetry."
Perfection Resides in My Head
Day by day, I live this challenging life,
As a sister, daughter, mother and wife.
I have so many labels to describe me, this is true,
But there are no comprehensive tags for me or for you.
In fact, there are unwrapped parts of me stuck inside,
In dark places, unknown sides of me quietly reside.
The Olympic Champion is ready to do back-flips and triumphantly win,
Yes, my inner self is contained, but has the power of twenty men.
The other corner has a captivating singer who always tops the charts,
She is brave on the stage, sings flawlessly and touches untold hearts.
The world traveller in me is going tirelessly round and round the globe,
But, I am wearing exotic, magnificent clothes instead of this old robe.
Another dark spot highlights my perfect body as a ten,
No scars, no spare parts; it is shapely yet reasonably thin.
My secret side is full of love and strength that easily reaches out,
For the underdog I am finally able to cheer and loudly shout.
My hidden self is totally free from disease and pain,
She is surrounded by sunshine and is protected from soaking rain.
She is whole, her ribs are in place, her muscles are all there,
No metal, screws, bolts or artery clips and absolutely no grey hair.
She walks out into the open and without weird swine tissue,
No high-tech pieces and no strange or embarrassing surgical issue.
She finds with joy that cadaver bone is not her internal glue,
She is in tip-top shape, no, she is better than new.
I can admire how she would look in the open, but she lurks deep within,
She is trapped in there, but I am out here, visible with every sin.
My real self is imperfect, broken and sometimes I see flashes of white, purple and red,
So, I stand tall in this battered body while perfection resides hidden in my head.