(Even the beautiful sun has blemishes)
Erase my mistakes from his eyes.
Allow him not to see those flaws.
Cut them out here, there, and lengthwise
until they slough right off.
Run far, far away, imperfection!
Gallop to the hills and never think to look back.
I’ll board up my doors; secure my windows with tacks.
As I sleep, my mistakes drift in with the breeze.
They settle on my chest; staying as quiet as can be.
In the morning, I awaken and find I’ve been mistaken.
There’s nothing shameful at all about being human.
I look at my blemishes with grass in their hair,
mud on their shoes, and dirt on their cheeks.
I gather them close; promising accountability.
Without them, I wouldn’t be me.