Uncurated Selves

Let me see your secret failings, your botched rhymes
and unflattering portraits; tell me more than your success, let us
dance like devils beneath the eyes of God, and rhyme our
imperfect, repetitive rhymes. Turn away from
the you you’ve made, embrace
the self that exists in reality. Brush off
the empty shelving units and delve deep,
recovering crumbling memories – delicate, delicate,
before they go to dust – to fill yourself with:
do not worry if they grin dumbly, do not
concern yourself with the outside eyes. Fill
the shelves like a child’s bedroom, with every
image that makes you alive.

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