Flawed

If words are but our thoughts spoken
why is it madness to talk to oneself
and why is it that when looking inside
we find such duality in our own natures
craven and pure standing side by side
along with the many degrees between

We none of us are what we seem
yet knowing this, seeing the façade
would we rather believe than doubt
better perhaps to have faith in a sham
than to face uncomfortable truths
stripped down bare what do we become

Mirrors reflect only the masks worn
ears hear only words spoken aloud
if appearance is all, then all is lost
for who is capable of appearing perfect
and how can we delight in our being
being imperfect with such deep flaws

Pain at every turn when turning inward
falsehood all around looking outward
those who promise faithfulness lie
unaware that while perfection beckons
we mortals are not able to attain it
such is the grievous nature of self

Nature is by its very nature flawed
we who persist in believing otherwise
fall prey time and again to the perils
of hurt and perpetual disappointment
brought low by our own shortcomings
dashed against the rocks of recrimination

If I say I hate the person that I am
I know you in your gentle generosity
will ask me to reconsider, to be kinder
in my darkened soul lies stand upon lies
reaching ever higher towards the light
in this light I'm not at all what I seem.