I’ve mastered the art of imperfection. Chased it down to study and learn to be undone. But the imperfections in my writing, those that are beautiful and my own literary mannerisms, are in themselves resistance on my part. The embodied practice of tethering myself to those who these love letters, poems and essays are for and sometimes about. What is imperfect about my poetry is what is also most loved by the people I want to love it. The lack of precision at times, very brief lapses in structure, intentionally cutting down usage of large syllable words. These are disembodied yet literary practices of remembering what keeps my writing alove— language. These italicized moments are messages back to home. Conversations with those we sometimes intentionally forget or leave out when we write. I’m always reimagining perfection. My imperfections signify something essential to those who inspired them. How can we, as writers, poets, and wordsmiths, dignify readers and audiences through how we communicate on paper, to them, and about their experience? 

- Kwon