I beat on myself for my imperfections 
And labour over my daily mistakes 
Yet I look to the men who came before me
And see the trail they left behind,
Littered with bad choices.
They smile in my direction 
Telling me “it is what it is”
“How can you find God if you don’t make mistakes?”
I sing these words when I face a crisis
It arms me to the teeth against all devices
Of self loathing, pure hatred 
Self destruction as a way of living.