The Perfect, Imperfect You
Honey, this is life—no heaven rehearsed,
No halo required, no flaw reversed.
You are already what you try to be:
A perfect error, divinely free.
I would not edit a single hue
Of the wild, unfinished art of you.
We are all cracked by wanting whole,
We chase the flawless, misname the soul.
This world was never built to comply,
So your reaching counts. Your trying is sky.
Do not change. And if you inquire,
My answer survives, untouched by fire.
If I turned my gaze from skin and frame
To where your quiet galaxy flames,
I would not see flesh, nor measure, nor part—
I’d see the universe learning a heart.
A riddle made tender, vast yet true.
Honey, the beautiful thing is you.
There are constellations caught in your hair,
Morning borrows its light from there.
And when you feel night—withdrawn, cocooned—
You are still a sun, temporarily mooned.
Even shadow obeys your law.
Honey, I see no fault at all.
And if I stepped back from thought and review
To behold the sum of you,
I’d see a world that refuses to end,
Evergreen time that knows how to bend.
If choice were mine, through old or new,
I’d change not a breath of the imperfect you.