Perfectly Imperfect
Like olive oil,
The first press is the best.
It is pure, unrefined.
It is the true essence of the olive.
Like chicken,
The more you process it,
The worse it gets.
Bits and pieces where they don’t belong.
Like a work of art,
The original is,
The only one of value.
Copies are worthless.
Such is poetry.
The honest print
Of pure thoughts on paper
Is best before it is changed
Before it is touched
By the minds of others
Before it is read
Before it is changed.
For poetry is like a diary,
The authors own thoughts.
And no one has the right,
To change those beautiful emotions.
