Poetry

I have accepted myself, now. 
 
In incompleteness, 
and all flaws. 
 
The bunker was intent, 
on self-destruction. Why 
did you want to 
stop that? 
 
The prodigy will not 
walk with me, I know. 
Yet my shadow falls in love. 
 
A tear-washed poem 
was a good beginning.