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

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