Poem – Imperfect Trust

I want to say ‘trust me,’

I will make it good, or better

Heal the wounded places

Ease bumps and bruises

Bring cake and comfort

Permanent, reliable.


We all know my track record

Is less than perfect

On this score.


But perfection…

The smooth untroubled surface

Unwanting, unchanging

Free from need.

An ice cube.


And the flaws create

Fingerholds in lives

Places weeds grow

Glorious, unexpected blooms.


My unpolished imperfection

Gets things done, ineptly.

With the love born

Of being unfinished.


Only the imperfect dream

Or desire, or hope.

Only the imperfect

Can change.


Trust me.

I’m going to mess this up

Now and then,

But there are wild flowers

Growing from my lips.

About Nimue Brown

Druid, author, dreamer, folk enthusiast, parent, polyamourous animist, ant-fash, anti-capitalist, bisexual steampunk. Drinker of coffee, maker of puddings. Exploring life as a Pagan, seeking good and meaningful ways to be, struggling with mental health issues and worried about many things. View all posts by Nimue Brown

3 responses to “Poem – Imperfect Trust

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