My Flaw
What is wrong with me? I stand in front of the mirror, naked, for I can see no other way. I can see no flaw to account for it, but I know it is there. It must be inside, since I do not see it outside. There is something inside me that forces imperfection upon me. I try as I might to place the blame on something else, but I am the only common factor of my many misfortunes. There must be something in me that causes it. I search within, but I find nothing. I do not know what the flaw is, but I am sure it is within me.
It causes me to say the wrong things. It causes me to do the wrong things. It runs like a fault vertically through my soul. There is no part of me that is completely separate from it. It coarses through my veins with the rest of me. How long has it been there? Why does it exist? Is it simply there to torture me? Is it there simply to spite me? There must be something else to it, surely. There must be a reason for it. Who has placed this thing within me? Why was it placed there? Is there someone who hates me enough to do such a thing? Or is it of my own design?
Perhaps it is this flaw, this imperfection that provides me with hope. For without it, there is no pain, there is no sadness. And without pain, without sadness, there would be no need to make things better. Without this fault, there would be no need in striving for perfection, would there? Perhaps it has been there since the beginning. Perhaps it is this fault that drives the rest of me. Perhaps I cannot truly exist without it. Perhaps I should not be so quick to judge it. Perhaps it is me.
It causes me to say the wrong things. It causes me to do the wrong things. It runs like a fault vertically through my soul. There is no part of me that is completely separate from it. It coarses through my veins with the rest of me. How long has it been there? Why does it exist? Is it simply there to torture me? Is it there simply to spite me? There must be something else to it, surely. There must be a reason for it. Who has placed this thing within me? Why was it placed there? Is there someone who hates me enough to do such a thing? Or is it of my own design?
Perhaps it is this flaw, this imperfection that provides me with hope. For without it, there is no pain, there is no sadness. And without pain, without sadness, there would be no need to make things better. Without this fault, there would be no need in striving for perfection, would there? Perhaps it has been there since the beginning. Perhaps it is this fault that drives the rest of me. Perhaps I cannot truly exist without it. Perhaps I should not be so quick to judge it. Perhaps it is me.