Antarctic Poem #6: Imperfect

Imperfect

Despite my rumpled hair, my cracked
lips and my mistakes —

without anyone around to judge
or appreciate it, even
when it’s unexpected

I feel beautiful.

Not monumentally.
Not in a shocking revelation of glamour.
But in some obscure quirk or
flaw that often goes unnoticed.

In those tiny bites of evidence
that add up to something unique, something
different, something familiar.

I liken it to those moments in the
presence of a child when they exist only in
their own world, allowing me a glimpse of
their profound innocence and naivety.

When the heart swells with love at the
perfection of pure and imperfect authenticity.

That is when I fall in love with myself.

Despite my rumpled hair, my cracked
lips and my mistakes.