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Imperfect Me

A poem by Antonio Palmer

Master Potter, have you come to knead?
To impress upon me your vision?
To shape and to mold?
Impart to me your wisdom, Master Potter.
I will not reject your steady hand.

However, if I could make one request.
Do not throw me to the kiln to be hardened
and placed among your masterwork.
Do not think me odd, but perfection
bores me. It confines me to an end.

Rather, nothing excites me more than
being an unfinished lump of clay.
For then, I have infinite possibilities!

I pray, do not cast me into the fires
of permanence, Master Potter.
And sentence me to an existence
devoid of imagination and mobility.

Let me sink back to the earth and be born anew.
For every day, I can shape my own path.
Every day, I can be better than I once was.

Master Potter, do not think little of me.
I embrace the ugliness of my imperfection,
And the beauty of untethered ambition.

 

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