Memoirs of an imperfect Angel

My time of sighing is over 

I’m thinking of crying 

My hour of laughter is come 

I feel I’m jerking 

My nightmares are few 

But I hear many voices 

Wake me up when my tears are dried 

And when my eyes can dream no more 

To tell me it’s just a Deja Vu 

I’m silent yet soliloquising in audible snore 

The misdemeanor of my countenance says it all …

Flares of light , flashes of darkness 

The good of today and the evil of yesterday 

The joy of the morrow and sorrow of the days are hounding me with a glaring stare 

The days of my little beginnings are few yet shrouded with memories of an imperfect past… 

Yeah I know is a memoir of an imperfect Angel 

The fantasies I seek are far and near and my joy short lived …

Reminiscent of the memoirs of an imperfect angel… 

They said, he said, she said 

Cloud I was without water 

Dried as a root in arid ground 

So covered I my face in despiteful pulchritude 

My consolation is driven by my ugly past 

I stand not making a speech in self defense nor to seek therapy to boost a low self-esteem… 

I stand to thrive in my imperfections 

Hoping it will  be chronicled that when I stood abused, accused and seduced my imperfections matched up with the perfection of men who dwell in a perfect world 

knowing mine is just a memoir of an imperfect Angel… 

Whose path is drenched in MERCY and feet rooted in GRACE 

Love found me 

Love has called my name