The following is a poem I wrote in college. I believe the poem emerged from an exercise we did in a poetry writing class. It has become one of my favorite poems because it's me. It describes how I felt about myself at the time.
What do you think?
I seek for creation,
but in the meantime, I abuse the habit of perfection.
Round blue eyes, rough fingers, pigmy size body.
Stubby fingers tap, pound, thrum against the desk.
I wait for truth. I wait for creation.
Yet, in the meantime I am discovered daydreaming:
All mountains erupt with lava and flying rocks.
Stop! Remember perfection.
Protruding mouth conceals an under bite and crooked teeth.
I yearn for truth. I yearn for creation.
A mystery may be hidden, but it is controlled through practice.
Lights, large pictures, lipstick.