Today I was better

Than the version of myself yesterday,

Dreading every word which reeked of imperfection.

 

I am better now.

 

Much better,

Than the bitter stench of self-judgement

From my own swollen lips.

My swollen hips tell me so – I worked hard for these

and I am better now.

In the burn I brought upon myself – I am successful

Accomplished,

Achieved.

 

I am the being that bodies desire,

That mouths aspire to acquire

– I am better.

Superior to myself,

In so many ways,

I am satisfied

I am secure.

---

 

I am searching

for the reason  why scrutiny is my solution

To healing.

  I recommend recovery in aesthetic creation.

I prescribe the production of pretty verses,

  To nurse neurotic thoughts.

To comfort,

To shelter

 under the arches of rhymes.

---

I am better than I use to be at writing those.

My scribbles,

Often significant,

I sing with the pride

And tenacity

Of a lover.

 

Sometimes.

 

Some time,

I suppose that disappointment will drive

Each

Syllable

Over

The

Edge

Into my removal bin of regrets nonetheless

if I cannot do better

Than to absorb all of myself into ink,

by the time this receipt roll is out of space.

 

Till paper prints have bore greater marvels than

This

Ineffective note to self anyway.

 

– I will be better tomorrow