Extra-ordinary
Flaw (flo) n. 1. An imperfect or defective part, as a crack or blemish. 2. An intangible defect < a character flaw> -flaw v. -flaw'less adj. -flaw'lessly adv. -flaw'less.ness n.
Look into the mirror at yourself. Wrinkle your nose. Feel shaken with fright. Roll your eyes in Trite . Glare in dislike. Bathe in the murky polluted waters of discomfort and spit out the liquid the enters your mouth knowing that you're spitting out your entire essence. Know to hate your own body.
What is a flaw but what someone sees as different? A plight of wrongness that you're forever born with? Something that sticks right up there with your name and identity so close and tightly that it may steal any sanity, the second skin; the mask stuck so fast to the point you can no longer see past its existence?
Upper lip hair. Pimple scars. Acne. Dry lips. Bed hair. Stained teeth.
But if it exists, then it is real; the ultimate truth will it reveal. They call it verisimilitude.
Ugh.
Nevertheless they see it as a mistake, a human disfunction of the mechanics of construction. Genealogy. You double take. You want to belong, but that little blemish is just so wrong!
Who am I, to remark on the appearance of my face? Language issues? It is just a label.
I may have flaws but I am so much more. I am the girl who remembers. Who never render's falsely in a mystery for I am the girl who notices all the little details, solving the puzzles.
I am the girl who knows passion and power. And how to mind bend her dreams into reality.
The issue here, is that truth is never consistent, it works with many shades of grey. A flaw is an intimate dislike of yourself. It's the passion that makes hate harmonious to love and potent enough to last eons. A flaw is an regret. A flaw intrudes on satisfaction and dents confidence. A memory is a mark or an effect that is held or conserved.
Truth relies on a precise moment in time when all is in agreement. Memory is receptive to change and subjective to perspective. Memory creates time. Forgetfulness is remembering that taking a break from attachment is beneficial. Inaccuracy is to human as time to memory.
I stumble on numbers, but I manage to excel in language which is unusual. I am the water in an ever flowing river. I am human.
I am fluid, but I am proud, of that at least. If that makes me different, I don't care. I have achieved the impossible; to learn. I dare to say that I will never stop.
What is a flaw when seen over time?
Will its space that it occupies be accepted from the jointed world of error? or will it stick out as a life long devastation? Something worse than common frustration...a feeling you can't just pick off...
Time does not exist. It's an ever changing flow, a pattern, a beat, a rhythm persistent in only that one place. But I am real, this smudge is real. I can tell, because I feel. But it exists in time, which changes, so this flaw will change. I will learn to love it, I will find that someday I wouldn't know who I am without this flaw. I know it now. It is innocent.
That was when I knew the truth. I am a work of art, this flaw is art, I am, a walking, talking masterpiece. Proof of mother nature's realness for I am the human experience. I have color, I have sounds, I can make things move from their grounds. I am aware.
Does that make it alright?
That for some reason I came out wrong? No. Of course not. But what is wrong? What is right? What is bad? What is good? That's a binary categorization which constricts the nations into a tiny, little, box.
I am but true diversity in action. A change, a choice, another chance to experience it all. and a gifted moment to try to live it better. I am not wrong. I just am. So I call myself flawless. Forever Flawless.
This poem is about:
Me