I like the term
“curated imperfection”
a precision cut
missing the vital organs
of self

in group prayer you might say
brothers,
I was impatient with my wife and kids
or
I’m really struggling with depression

what you mean is
five nights this week I indulged porn,
and fantasized leaving
or
I filled my garage with more
watched hours of television   
laid awake at night
asking the Lord to take me home

we curate like a dead man
convincing you he is just alive
to mask the stench of decay   
to mask the means
to lift a friend from the grave   
in grace, to say
“Me too.”