Imperfection

I
feel so alone
these empty walls
surround me, squash me
I
hear the voices that echo
for a millenium or two.

I
feel useless
wasted
stupid
twisted
I
always reach for the unattainable
the happiness
the perfect thing

I

can't make myself
into someone else--
maybe
in a new life
in a new time,
but now
I'm just stuck with
me

stuck with
the face staring at me
in the mirror
and the memory--

disconnect
me
from this mind

this memory
this body

this imperfect failure
this shadow of myself--


Copyright 1999 by Erin D. Conroy.




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