My body is no longer the flawless manuscript
most men would take time out of their busy day to read;
no longer as exciting as the latest novel,
nor as interesting as the daily news.
There was a time when everything was capitalized
in all the right places,
the i’s were dotted and there were no uncrossed t’s.
Everything was worded right.
Sentences had the appropriate emphasis and titles
fit me perfectly.
Now, I am more like the comics, and even some of them
aren’t funny, but rather tragic.
I was beginning to think I was of no more use
than a rolled up newspaper used to swat flies.
But then you found me.
You read the manuscript, overlooking the flaws.
There is no need for spell-check, you accept me as I am.
My words come off your lips in the form of poetry,
and in your eyes I am the sonnet,
I had always hoped to be.
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