White Out
I wonder how many minutes of my life
I have spent trying to white out
Every single blemish and imperfection
I could not bear to face,
Like moments I wish I could erase
From the darkest crevices of memory,
Latent even to me;
Moments which force me to remember
How I’m only human,
Limited and flawed by pure design,
And though it may seem all benign
To you, to me, it is my form of cancer.
Have they not told you
My disease is a romancer?
Feeling doubt at my direction,
Avoiding judgement and rejection,
I quickly crossed the intersection
And began to chase perfection.
But after endless city blocks
And changing seasons,
I, again, reversed direction
To find her standing there
And chasing me right back.
After our fated confrontation,
I then came to the realization
That she’s a crumbling foundation,
Unable to support even herself.
And though engulfed by hesitation,
I found my voice in this narration.
Can you hear it?
There’s no invincibility or pride
Nothing gained or verified,
But, frankly, I’m still terrified
Of this devotion;
Of being eroded and replaced
By the contours of my own face,
The one I rise to reassemble
Every morning.
