I only let you see
a glimpse of who
I really am.  You notice
a marble statue carefully
carved and polished.
But that’s not me;
though I aim for perfection,
I fall far short.  I never
allow you to see the rusty
tin can filled with holes 
and dents.  That’s me.
I am flawed, bruised,
damaged.  Do you see
my soul, or just a facade?