Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Evelyn Mansfield Jan 2015
What is perfect?
'having all the required or desirable elements, qualities, or characteristics; as good as it is possible to be.'
My instant reflex would say that
I am the epitome of perfection
I am not
Nobody is
We all strive to be the very personification of
Perfection
Yet in the end
That dream is shattered into millions of pieces
Of broken heart
All different shapes and sizes
*All Perfect
I look out the lonely window, misted in the mornings cold.
I see shadows, grey and formless, out there in the sleeping
world. Still sleeping, on this grey and quiet morn. I wonder
why I feel this way, why I hate the noisy, bustling day. Why
I prefer instead, to stand here, alone and cold, and draw
pictures in the condensation, gathered from my steaming
breath. My melancholy is my oldest friend. She sits there in
the corner, content to stare, wordlessly out the misted window,
and fidget with her hair. I wonder why I have this life, why I
am not instead, a tree or rock or distant star, burning coldly,
out in the great expanse. Or even a flower, violet with the
shade of twilight, here only for a brief while, a second to
The Infinite, and then gone, blown away like chaff upon an
Autumn wind. I wish. For I am like the quiet breeze that
stirs the grasses, and raises the heads of sleeping flowers, in
the cold of early dawn. I am like a shallow pool, clear for those
with eyes to see, still as a translucent mirror, set upon those
tiny waves. People glance my way, and then continue, on
with their vibrant lives, so full of light and color, determining
in a passing glance, the frailty of life I hold, no threat, no pain.
As easily extinguished as to blot a word of faded ink.
I sit here, my melancholy by my side, hand upon my shoulder.
I wonder if it is not time, to seek some newer fresher place,
like the violet in her time. I wonder if it is not best, to leave
this faded world behind, and just....go. To leave and seek a
better clime. For after all, what's a word of faded ink, too
grey to read, so light as to be barely seen, but a thing, not far
removed, from the clean expectancy of the white beneath.
Awaiting only a ready brush, and ink, near at hand.
This is a quiet morning upon which I write. Truth bleeds from the tip of my pen,
demanding of the world, to recognize it as it truly is. My gift and everlasting curse.
Evelyn Mansfield Dec 2014
Deep breath in
Deep breath out
Plaster a head-turning smile on your lips
Build up your perfect façade
I am strong
No you are not
I am fine
No you are not
I can handle it
No you cannot
Don't think about it
Think about it
Don't cry
Cry
I am-
no
you
are
*NOT!
Evelyn Mansfield Dec 2014
Yes, I know it is just a deck of cards
Yes, I know that Bicycle is just a brand of cards
Yes, I know all decks have 52 cards
4 suits, Hearts, Diamonds, Aces, Clubs
Yes, I know all cards are relatively the same
Yes, I am bawling like a baby because I will only use my Bicycle cards and can't find them
No,
I
Can't
Help
*It
Just another way OCD has taken over my life...
Evelyn Mansfield Dec 2014
Would you miss me?
Would you miss my laugh?
My smile?
My wit?
My beauty?
Would you even miss me at all?
I wonder...
I still wonder...
Evelyn Mansfield Dec 2014
I hate you with a burning passion that will never ever go out.
You make me feel as if I have lost all control
You make me want to cry in the grave I have long since dug for myself
You make me feel I am worthless
I hate you
Yeah... ******* OCD
Next page