Balafong Magazine started a 30-Topic Poetry/Spoken Word Challenge on its Facebook Page sometime last week. Every two days, a new topic is released and the writers ‘in the house’ get to producing awesome poems. Due to time constraints and unpredictable spurts of writer’s block, I’m only writing when I can and on topics I have inspiration for. Topic 2 of the challenge was ‘Perfection’ and I share what I came up with below. Enjoy!

What If I Thought Myself Perfect

From the corner of my eye, I saw him stop
Dead in his tracks, eyes transfixed on my racks
Mouth agape, pupils growing wider
Taking a slow vertical journey down all of my tall glory
And then…
‘You must be what perfection is’

Amusement claimed my lips, curved as if to kiss my eyes
Mirroring the glowing moon
The only light on this dark night
I scrutinised, this gentleman, hypnotised
By what he saw on the outside
A 5ft9 frame destined for a 6ft grave
Dark, smooth skin, tiny waist, killer smile
Donk lifting its cheeks up to the god of squats
Perfection seen through ‘superficial’ lenses
Oh snap! Lemme bring you back to your senses

I claim perfection and get shot by the moral army
Perfection belongs to the Supreme Being, they say
Then turn around and tell me I was created in His image
Makes me wonder, upon these questions I ponder
How is imperfection born from perfection
Is this image, like all photocopies, substandard
Replicas of a perfect original, tampered
With… by eyes that refuse to see, minds that refuse to understand
That I, created by the perfect one, am perfect

It’s in the beauty of my flaws, the rise after the falls
It’s in the scars I try to hide, a birthmark too visible
It’s in my tears, my smiles, my cries for help
It’s in my doubts, my fears, my insecurities
It’s in my confidence, my strengths, my so-called vanity
It’s in my humility, staying grounded, not an irony
It’s in my intelligence, my knowledge, my talents
It’s in my love, my loved, my loving
It’s in the essence of my being, my substance
It’s in this image of the Creator, this creation

I turned to brother man, still transfixed by this vision
Can’t blame him for wanting a piece of this perfection
He understands where it’s from, refuses to accept the status quo
Can’t tell him I’m not perfect, can’t make me believe same
You see, my perfection is in all that you deem imperfect
If humans were made to be fallible, then colour me perfect
A perfect human being, fashioned from perfect imperfections
Perfect
Imperfection
I’m perfection.