perfect one

so close
but not quite
a few shades from right
seems to be
but leaning on, might
standing on standard
taller than most
boasting a twinkle
like a newly moistened coast

damn near there
 says the eyer
judging it’s flair
tilting to the rays
finding it’s best side 
and best ways
smiling on cue
not wilting under the dew
but always composed
bowing to few

splaying petals
delicate and fine
harmony played
in tune with whispers of time
graceful in scent
urging to be inhaled
subtly sweeping in
blanketing lightly like a veil

potentially perfect
sweetly supreme
is only true
for floral things
a lady such as i…
 kinda wrong, but so right
has petals that glisten
like covers of snow
in twilight…
perfect on the surface
enemy of the sun
i can never be
perfect one
**I write this because I hate to be viewed as if I’m perfect…but perhaps this is my fault. I didn’t know that displaying discipline and etiquette…not allowing for my emotions to be so easily read, not giving power to my soul over to anything other than God….could make me susceptible to inaccurate perception. I cry, I lose it, I panic, I get angry, I’m crazy, I’m a mess, I’m needy, I’m apathetic, I’m mean, I’m moody, I’m an asshole, I fuck up, I cuss *lol*, I don’t like people….and though these things are minimally me…they still exist within. Maybe, I need to display more of these parts of me…to become more human to people…that way…when displayed…folks won’t get scared, easily angered, disgusted or sensitive. I’m a flower, yes…but I’m the flower missing a petal or two…slightly leaning and still beautiful in spite of. Love me or leave me alone.**