An Imperfect Thought

Pen down. Mind buzzing with ideas just spilled onto the page.
Critically ripping apart its own thoughts, trying to find the words to express a non-existant idea.
Are they perfect? Can the words of an imperfect human being ever be?
And what is perfection but another abstract thought expressed imperfectly?

Another furtive glance at the scribbles.
Almost too scared to read the raw thoughts bled onto paper.
What if they aren't perfect?
\What if they leave no impression?
No imprint on the world they're written into?

The thoughts brushed quickly from the mind,
Placed in a box with a thousand other "why's",  "what-ifs?"
A thousand other poems too scared to bare their souls,
To expose themselves to the painful pulling apart, reshaping, remoulding and possible casting aside..

And yet, once in a lifetime, one slips past the fingertips into the world outside,
Floats from page to page
And lands on someone's heart.