Half a Woman

Half a Woman, Oil Pastel, 8 X 11

At times I feel I'm half a woman,

On my darkest days, my emotions I scan,

Vibrations adrift, I feel all over the place,

Self-righteous ways, my ego wins the race.

Fragmented reflection, as I stare at the mirror,

Broken pieces of my spirit, attached to my figure,

Distorted vision, as I contemplate on my soul,

Imperfections and flaws, all I see are loopholes.

At times I feel I'm half complete,

Wounded in battles, still I charge to compete,

In a world where my soul was once easily lost,

My spirit, I swear to atone, no matter what the cost.

Looking in the mirror, I gaze into my eyes,

Trying to entangle, what I believe to be lies,

Striving for perfection was once my utmost goal,

Slowly I realize, perfect ain't gonna make me whole.

Windows of my soul, I yearn to see the answers,

Embrace all that I am, though I'm not a graceful dancer,

Awkward, and careless, still I strive for a full life,

Surrender, and let go of these endless, pointless strife.

Every once in a while, I still feel half incomplete,

On my chest, I lay my hands as I feel my heart beat,

Connecting my heart, my soul and my mind,

The other half of me, rest assured I will find.