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 fa├žade
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.


  1. Holy hell, Jos! Holy holy. How to respond to this, the most real series of questions I've seen posed, perhaps ever, in blogging?

    First this, and how can we delight in our being
    being imperfect with such deep flaws? There must be, MUST be delight in imperfection. If we were to have arrived as perfect beings already, then what would the point of life be? (If there is, in fact, a point, that is.) We are on these journies and regardless of religious belief, we better ourselves if we've learned, and if we don't, then we keep failing 'til we've learned enough. It is in the learning, in the process, that we succeed. Without the process we are nothing. And so, along the way, let's give ourselves that chance to fail so that we might take the next step. In all of this is beauty. If it was designed, then holy shit, what brilliance. If it wasn't, then what luck!

    I could stay here all day and talk this one out with you. I've been here, on this side of it, feeling small. I am so pleased when an infintisimal part of me bleeds out onto the other side and I feel worthy.

    Let's be hostile only to our selves of yesterday, if we must be hostile with ourselves at all, and even then look upon our then selves as children. How to fault a child for learning? And too let's be kind with one another.

    You are nothing but beautiful to me, raw, honest, vulnerable, awake, alive and beautiful. Well, I guess you're a few more things than beautiful after all.


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  3. Words spoken aloud are only auditory appearances...I believe it so. But typed words are not spoken and therefore wield a truth mightier than speech. I suppose that is what draws me here, and there, in and among your beauty and others. Beauty in the broken. Perfection is so overrated.

  4. Where you have delved, the masks, what we see in the mirror, how we portray ourselves, truth.

    This cuts to the core this.

    A wonderfully open, exposed piece.

  5. Hey! Erin sent me over your way and I owe her a debt of gratitude for it! I see this in me or me in this. Thank you for putting beautiful words to my feelings and thoughts... Much sisterly love... Dana xo

  6. aunty jos - you are perfect for us!

    love, joker and dave.

  7. Erin, I keep starting to respond and then coming up empty. What a strange thing ... normally I can't stop writing but recently I haven't the heart for it somehow. I will walk on and perhaps the journey will bring me a better understanding of why I am so very far from being the person I aspire to be. Until then I will try to see beauty in what is.

    Robert your blog is new to me. Such wonderful writing. I will visit again.

    Annie, imperfection gnaws at me. I want to shed it like old skin. Always I want to be more than I am. Perhaps more than I am capable of being. If I give up trying and admit defeat then I find myself walking on a path that perpetually fills me with regret for not trying harder. I guess I'd rather try and fail than not try, but this constant failing gets tiresome!

    Dana, I have visited your blog and found so much similarity in the way I sometimes feel and your writing. I think I will have to go back and comment on a couple of things that really resonated with me.

    Ah Joker, you and Dave hold a very special place in my heart. Would that I could see things as you do!! I think Herself has chosen the perfect canine duo in you two. See you soon. xx

  8. how beautifully you illustrate the fact that we are on a never-ending journey... within... on each turn we unveil a part of us...