Perfecting Imperfections

I don't like making mistakes
so i prefer to write in pencil
instead of pen because it can be erased.
But the reminants of words not spoken
are always left on the page.
So i rip them out
one by one
until i feel my conscious has been cleared
or the thoughts have been pushed
so far back i can pretend they are forgotten.
Until I'm forced to remember
by a slap from reality that jostles
the stones holding my transgressions in place.
Now free to roam
they haunt me.
Lingering above my head tugging my heart
to the pavement to be
trampled on by passersby.
With every step a part of me dies
a death brought on by the hands of my past
leaving a worn shell mangled in its path.
Ripped and torn
I lie in pain
cursing the day i ever decided to venture out into the world.
I should have known better
than to think I could forget it all
especially since these faults make me who i am
and i'm quite a fan of me
...probably a bit more than i should be
but if he gets a big ego, why not me?
I need something to fight this
over-whelming self-doubt
self-pity enhanced sense of self or whatever you choose to call it.
so as the battle between
vanity and apprehension ensues, i sit
watching, consuming, accepting
it all
the good and bad as well as the right and wrong
until there's nothing left.
Except a completely imperfect me.