Maybe we just misunderstand what it says - I'm-perfect... :)
All I want to do today is share a poem about the icky and sticky subject of imperfection. It is such a lovely poem and I feel it resonating with A LOT in my life. Do you?
I am falling in love with my imperfections The way I never get the sink really clean, forget to check my oil, lose my car in parking lots, miss appointments I have written down, am just a little late.
I am learning to love the small bumps on my face the big bump of my nose, my hairless scalp, chipped nail polish, toes that overlap.
Learning to love the open-ended mystery of not knowing why
I am learning to fail to make lists, use my time wisely, read the books I should.
Instead I practice inconsistency, irrationality, forgetfulness.
Probably I should hang my clothes neatly in the closet all the shirts together, then the pants, send Christmas cards, or better yet a letter telling of my perfect family.
But I’d rather waste time listening to the rain, or lying underneath my cat learning to purr.
I used to fill every moment with something I could cross off later.
Perfect was the laundry done and folded all my papers graded the whole truth and nothing but
Now the empty mind is what I seek the formless shape the strange off center sometimes fictional me.