"Imperfection"

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Sunlight drips from the sweet summer sky

Like pink lemonade, tartly squeezing tongues,

Closing eyelids; this is what the sun has done.

 

There hypotheses lead me to believe that

what we see is all but a reflection.

Humans look to the sky for answers, but

all we get is the DRIP, DRIP, DRIP of

 

Raindrops that fill our bodily gas tanks,

sipping into our pores and itching at our

veins. Water that is cold and that

drizzles across our sweaty cheekbones.

 

Lower the Earth's

thermostat and what was once clear is

now an electric white. Frozen microscopic

pinpricks of snow touch skin and are destroyed.

 

Speaking of "destroyed," wind belongs in

this category. Swirling streams brush

blades of grass in a way that makes

sweet foliage feel like a carpet of razors.

 

Floods as sharp as teeth, cutting

effortlessly through what was once

considered "invincible."

 

It is true, now. You must realize that all that is human-made is not perfect, and all that is perfect is not human-made.

 

We are a race of imperfections, caught drowning in the endless race of perfecting.






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