I shall be
my own Michelangelo,
carving my
ideal shape out of this block of sludge.
It seems so easy
sometimes,
just to lop
off the offending portions of my body (mainly the belly),
leaving only
my True Self,
the
Herculean form I was meant to have.
Sculpted
from marble,
I would
stand in rough-hewn glory,
bestriding
the earth like a Colossus.
I can’t let
go of those old dreams of perfection.
They cling
to me like a vestigial wing.
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