Self Portrait

In the process of reflection,

I’ve stretched and pulled apart,

Dissected and peeled away,

Layers and layers of filth.

The thoughts that flutter in and out my waking consciousness have now been color-coded and categorized,

Placed in their corresponding corners of the ever expanding catacombs of my mind.

I have watched hesitantly as they are pushed through the tight mesh of the flour sifter,

Falling, individually, to be seen, no longer clumped together in a mess of uncertainty.

One might think this produces clarity,

one might assume conclusions have been drawn.

Yet, I leave the board in a stalemate.

Nothing gained or lost. A defeat in a way.

I expected to feel better, justified even.

However the files that grow fatter are not the ones of merit,

Bitterness, shame, guilt, selfishness, pride,

The subcategories under “Bad Things I Do Well”

I feel less than justified, a little more ragged than before,

And for that I have reason to hope.

“When a man is getting better he understands more and more clearly the evil that is still left in him. When a man is getting worse he understands his own badness less and less.”  - C.S. Lewis