The perfect, imperfect poem


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.

Elizabeth Carlson