I watch you
Your bright colors are so well known
The lines that create your figure are common ones
But I see you
The boards on the floor are lifting
The walls aren't as smooth as they first appear
The stains in the carpet are becoming noticeable
The closed doors are shedding light
The cracks are coming out of hibernation
Your fragile structure can't hold your capacity any longer
It can't resist your fate for freedom
Bars won't hold in your spirit no more
You are becoming imperfect because now you are feeling.
We all take large steps toward imperfect before we find perfection. This is the mess of self-creation. You don't see the full image in the beginning, but at the end your jagged sketch becomes the Mona Lisa.
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