weeds outside the doctor's office.
i was wondering about imperfection,
walking back to the jeep,
wondering when we really accept it
and how far is too far,
cause all of us who say we accept it still want to be thinner
have perfect skin
pedicures manicures pink toenails,
and we think if we had a white mac
our stories would be better,
would be perfect and we would be famous
and someone would come take pictures of our glorious selves
in front of that computer
and our desk would have a vase of sunflowers or blue hydrangeas,
madonna notwithstanding cause she is the material girl, not us,
and our windows would look out over fields of autumn,
and that person would ask us questions for which we had the perfect answers.
still worried about that perfection nonsense,
would sigh -
it seems important somehow that they would sigh -
and wish they were us,
that they led our lives,
those lives we lead embracing imperfection,
those lives we lead saying be yourself,
you are fabulous,
and we mean it, we really do, you are fabulous,
and we are imperfect,
and i was thinking about all that,
my mind's finger almost touching the point i was reaching for,
when i reached the curb and in fumbling for my keys i lost it.
lost that perfect thought.
insert smirk right here as life teaches me a lesson.
my jeep is piled with mail from my mother's house,
bags of clothes to go to goodwill,
a blue floatie still inflated,
bobbing around in the back seat where it's been for months,
a roll of paper towels, kleenex, a couple of styrofoam cups,
an antique doll's head hidden under something behind the driver's seat,
where it's been since march,
but no camera.
just the one on my phone.
i was enchanted with the weeds
and the shadow of my hands as i walked behind them,
my shadow their sun.
totally absolutely imperfect.