finding yourself poems



I could never explain the process
it took for me to access
the real me.
There are few who might understand
the intricacies and difficulties it took
to appease, please, and peel away
the layers accumulated–
each like a cloud adumbrating
some nebulous form proclaiming
to be the true me.
How others can maintain
a structure, a perfect frame
so un-maimed and hardly defamed
with a lack of contentious points
seems partially pretentious.
There is no such thing as a perfect human form
that seamlessly conforms
to some universal norm
of how a life should and shouldn’t be lived
without need of forgiveness.
For on the way to success
–and the perfection one might profess
when one reaches that prosperous
surge of happiness–
are compromises
and retries
and somber skies
and judging eyes
of others
of the self
of efforts you feel you pulled off the top shelf
and mixed so carefully into the brew of You.


more by A. M. LAINE

photograph by Chris Sardegna

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