Naughty Poem by wardha jawdat

There is a hole punched out
In the fabric of every soul:
That hole completes me
That hole is my claim to
The imperfect constitution of
Humanity.

That hole is the playplace of
My imperfections
The very idiosyncrasies that
Define me.

And yet
There sits a guard at the door…
He knocks ever so often
He looks ever so rude!
He whistles to keep me awake
He haunts my dreams too!

I know u my conscience
I know your reflection that darkens
The corners of my core
I know you as the
warden
That
Peeps out the hole
In my soul.

I know you
And
I humor you
As I all the while
Continue
Having my mesmerizing
Affair
With
Humanity.