The self that lives within,
and views the world from its interior,
the self that understands the world
through touch, and light;
needs more than the smooth surface
of an unblemished house in which to live.
The self that feels for the gaps in the lining,
looking for the cracks that let in life;
that self, alone, but for the view through
the broken lining,
would feel the wind’s breath
fresh upon its skin,
and the morning’s dawn light
gracing its cheek.
This self, we all have enclosed within
through an honest unrefined
And the self that denies
such imperfect constructs
and insists on its perfect
is cheated, as the night,
kept separate from the light of day
finds itself in the dark.
Ana Lisa de Jong