Self Portrait

I walk from there to there

to paint myself into black pixels,

my shadow following obediently

part of the hobbled sketch.

 

I draw myself

as a wobbly line,

ill aligned and always

misplaced near the horizon

 

Above are scrawled illegible words

written in a shaky handwriting,

below exists the gurgle of my bowels

that my imperfect ears can only hear.

 

I ponder my broken perfection

and hear Jesus whisper his love,

knowing not the direction

from which he speaks to me.