I feel the cover with my hands
my fingers touching,
reading braille
and I wanted to see as much as I felt
but seeing means knowing
and so much of the world’s problems
are seen through the eyes
because we look at what we see
and we judge
and we put into categories
this and that, him and her
sometimes you need to be blind to see what’s going on
and that’s how you get it right.

{ Annahoj Sig }


Perfectionist’s irony

I opened the book of my life
not a book I’ve been writing
but a book I’ve been polishing,
it has to be perfect you see,
it had to be
so anyone who came in a chapter of my life
wouldn’t see how….once,
……I too cried.

Yes from these eyes,
and by closing these eyes
the memory springs to life
to that once lonely dreary dark chapter
where I hid my eyes
so no one could see I cried.

She cried, still.
Until now.
That little girl.
She’s chasing me,
but I ran
I ran away from her
and closed the door
never to go back anymore,
No, no, no.

I had to close the door
and as I shut
my heart sank to the bottom,
she is me,
she is a part of me.
But now she ‘is’, she ‘was’
she belonged to the past
never a scurry, hush!
she now belongs to my past.

I’ve always been like this
as I have always known
a perfectionist at the most,
yes I know.
And it’s hard getting things right
when you’re not even right;

Something must really be wrong with our world
perfectionists who aren’t perfect
doctors who die
lawyers who lie
politicians who smile
and by the end of it all,
we aren’t perfect.