Splinter

Splinter


My splinter must look great in my eye
  --but only with magnifying glass--
For you to shout my tiny faults and
Make me want to die.

Your plank I’ve seen and it’s a beauty
  --though you conveniently miss it--
But to get rid of my splinter has become
Your solemn duty.

I love and do love but fear too much
    --this is part of my inheritance--
And though I want to know others,
I am in discomfort’s clutch. 

Change is not something you command
    --though you would love it to be so--
But if it could, I would make Your flaws
Remnants in the sand.

If I try and fail, will you be willing to admit
  --though you think surrender wrong--
That my affliction might outlast your lifetime?
Or will you throw a fit?

If I love you I must accept your flaws
--because you will argue me into guilt--
But mine you are ready to work and
Repair them with saws.

Because I love you I’ll commit to this try;
    --And because I hate it myself--
But if you don’t get everything you want
Then let me my alibi:

My own beloveds sense that reluctance
And mistake it as my own repugnance.
The one who gave me that indisposition
Stands most ready to become my opposition.
But I never claimed perfection before,
So while you worry over my few splinters,
May I please help you with your score?