Obecny, Nie Idealny | Present, Not Perfect

Foreword / Introduction

This poem is a bit different from what I usually write, but my twin sister Aniela asked me to write it, so I did. I’ll share the poem in its original form, with the Polish text, and then the English version for those who don’t know Polish.

There’s one part in English that’s a direct translation from Polish: “obecny, nie idealny” means “present, not perfect.” What it really means is that it’s more important to be here and try, even if it’s not perfect, than to wait for the perfect moment or perfect version of yourself that might never come. I chose it as the title because it shows the whole message of the poem. It’s the words I live by.

Poem: Obecny, Nie Idealny [Free-verse]

I spread my stuff on the bed and make small piles that make sense to me.
Names and subjects go on the front of each notebook so I won’t freeze later.
The timetable hides inside the cover where my hands will find it fast.
I check the zipper so it won’t argue with me in the hallway rush.
Shoes by the door, laces tucked, sleeves ready to hide shaking hands.
Four in, hold, out slow—okay, that helps, keep going.

My tablet is fully charged; it’s my voice—it says my words out loud.
It can say “Cześć” without me lifting my head.
If speech runs ahead of me: “Proszę mówić wolniej.”
If I lose the place: “Która strona?” and I catch up.
When I don’t get it: “Nie rozumiem,” and that’s okay.
Big “Tak” and “Nie” are there when I need quick answers.

I walk the day in my head: first room, next room, then break.
Where to sit so I can see without being in the middle.
If the words pile up, I breathe and show the screen once, not twice.
One nod means I got it; two taps mean give me a second, please.
I don’t rush; I just keep stepping where my plan says step.
Tiny wins count, even if nobody claps.

Names roll; the device says mine clean and steady.
If jokes hit too hard, I look at my list and follow it.
When I need help: “Proszę o pomoc,” and I point to what’s wrong.
If it’s too much: “Potrzebuję przerwy,” and a quiet corner.
I don’t have to be perfect; I have to be honest.
I can be small and still be enough.

I pack one page I’m proud of, to remind myself what I can do.
A short note waits on the screen: “obecny, nie idealny.”
A heavy, calm riff in my head keeps time between rooms.
Names I know sit in my notes; space for new ones is open.
The right screen opens fast when I need words.
If fear shows up, it can sit, but it doesn’t drive.

Bag by the door, route checked once, done.
Thumb test: what I need lands easy, no hunting.
I practice a small smile that doesn’t hurt my face.
I talk with my hands on glass; the voice handles the sound.
Ready enough is still ready; day one can meet me where I am.
Press play, walk in, stay me the whole way.

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Poem: Present, Not Perfect [Free-verse]

I spread my stuff on the bed and make small piles that make sense to me.
Names and subjects go on the front of each notebook so I won’t freeze later.
The timetable hides inside the cover where my hands will find it fast.
I check the zipper so it won’t argue with me in the hallway rush.
Shoes by the door, laces tucked, sleeves ready to hide shaking hands.
Four in, hold, out slow—okay, that helps, keep going.

My table is fully charged; it’s my voice—it says my words out loud.
It can say “Hi” without me lifting my head.
If speech runs ahead of me: “Please speak slower.”
If I lose the place: “Which page?” and I catch up.
When I don’t get it: “I don’t understand,” and that’s okay.
Big “Yes” and “No” are there when I need quick answers.

I walk the day in my head: first room, next room, then break.
Where to sit so I can see without being in the middle.
If the words pile up, I breathe and show the screen once, not twice.
One nod means I got it; two taps mean give me a second, please.
I don’t rush; I just keep stepping where my plan says step.
Tiny wins count, even if nobody claps.

Names roll; the device says mine clean and steady.
If jokes hit too hard, I look at my list and follow it.
When I need help: “Please help me,” and I point to what’s wrong.
If it’s too much: “I need a break,” and a quiet corner.
I don’t have to be perfect; I have to be honest.
I can be small and still be enough.

I pack one page I’m proud of, to remind myself what I can do.
A short note waits on the screen: “present, not perfect.”
A heavy, calm riff in my head keeps time between rooms.
Names I know sit in my notes; space for new ones is open.
The right screen opens fast when I need words.
If fear shows up, it can sit, but it doesn’t drive.

Bag by the door, route checked once, done.
Thumb test: what I need lands easy, no hunting.
I practice a small smile that doesn’t hurt my face.
I talk with my hands on glass; the voice handles the sound.
Ready enough is still ready; day one can meet me where I am.
Press play, walk in, stay me the whole way.