As an unperfect actor on the stage
Who with his fear is put beside his part,
Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,
Whose strength’s abundance weakens his own heart,
So I, for fear of trust, forget to say
The perfect ceremony of love’s rite,
And in mine own love’s strength seem to decay,
O’ercharged with burden of mine own love’s might.
O, let my books be then the eloquence
And dumb presagers of my speaking breast,
Who plead for love, and look for recompense
More than that tongue that more hath more expressed.
    O, learn to read what silent love hath writ,
    To hear with eyes belongs to love’s fine wit.

I look in the mirror
and see a wonderful girl
with big brown eyes and short brown hair
I smile, what a contagious smile
I can't help but smile even broader
I muster my body
I think of all the perfect thin models
and embrace myself out of joy for not looking like them
I love all my weird habits
as well as my beautiful
character traits
and I love the fact that I'm
completely unperfect.
I appreciate everything
my life offers for me,
I am grateful for every instant
I am able to enjoy my surroundings.
I have to admit
I have fallen
deeply in love
with myself.

There is nothing I can give to you that is not past or future.
When my both selves fight, they throw insults at each other like an unhappy couple.
    “You are already gone!” the one says,
    “You are never here” says the other.

And I sing then. I never let any note slip away into silence. Songs in which I’m a magician,
right before the grand finale,
the last vanishing act.
I close my eyes and slowly slice away layers of skin,
so I can become less and less,
so I can sail away on the river without an end,
it’s flow imposing my soul with the authoritative demand to move forward.

There is no river.
I am pitifully human so there is no alchemy that transforms loss into beauty.
Ihe things I have built, I built myself. Like this house of memories
with it’s sole window. The moon shines through it every night.
What an unperfect image,
what my heart endures everytime I reach out only to feel
solance turning into a hell-flamed sky.
The darkness is gone like I will be gone
like everything has gone forever.

There is also no house.
Only the pale waves of a grey-winter sea,
        dualism of being and not-being
a perfect symmetry,
a beautiful fragile balance.

My parents often ask me, why are you so stressed, why are you so depressed, . . . . . why are you so . . . crazy?
Here and now I am going to answer that question.

1. stress

The main reason I stress is from responsibility.
RESPONSIBILITY
The word makes me go insane
All of it causes pain.

Sibilings, five younger sibilings,
they all have their things.
they each have someting that either causes me a responsibilty or stress, because its a constant worry, love.

School, all eight classes,
you expect aces.
I can't be perfect, but you want me to be, and that is a huge responsibility.

Home, all of it,
every single bit.
A home requires everybody to have a responsibility.

2. deppresed

The main reason i am often sad, mad, or a mixture of both is that you wouldn't accept me.
NO ACCEPTENCE
To know that you would hate me,
stops me from being free.

Gender, i hate it,
why do we label ourselfs why dont we quit.
I just want to be free and ya'll dont like that, so i can't.

Sexuality, mine is different,
and you would accept it.
The world is different why cant you see that, why is different bad?

Religon, the worst of all,
the lectures make me feel so small.
You force and force and it makes me wat t be farther and farther away.

3. crazy

I am crazy because you dont care.
OBLIVION
You can't see me trying so hard,
the only things you see tears me apart.

I am trying, cant you see,
being perect for you is always who i've been tring to be.
Don't you see me working, all the time, trying to please all of ya'll.

Perfection, its impossible,
nothing can be perfectly aligned on the table.
Why do I have to be your perfect christain daughter who does so well in school while I am unhappy? Why can't I be your unperfect person that follows their dreams and is happy?

- Your unperfect human, Zan.

There are times when quintessential things fall apart.
So, we dream of a brand new start,
something that happens in the dark.
Can we help one another in the beginning?
Get the newspapers to help with the printing,
the public showing of this movement to stop "winning".
Stop trying to one up another,
Rise up, help the cause, dear brother.
Start up the band and sing along, something we can rediscover.
So, can we all raise a glass to the unPerfect days,
we all crowd together, the feeling a newly welcome glaze.
Together we dance, completely in sync, a repraisal ballet.
Don't forget our times, but the grown-ups always do.
All movement is movement, this was a breakthrough.
Keep it alive, even undercover, but I must bid you adieu.

you don't have to be the most beautiful girl,
to prove that you fit in,
you don't have to be conscious of your belly or your big *** arms,
you don't have to cut your hair for a reason that inlvoves him,
you don't have to have all the things in the world,
you don't need all that makeup for your acne or unperfect skin,
you don't have to shave your hairy arms and legs just because society thinks it's gross,
i think it's beautiful it shows us how much unique we are,
you don't have to hide your legs because you think it's big,
you don't have to be ashame about your stretch marks,
or your uneven skin tone,
you don't have to worry about what other thinks about you,
you are not pretty but you're are beautiful,
inside and out,
you are smart,
you are amazing,
brilliant,
wise,
gorgeous,
you are everything that you chose to be.
never let one thing ruin your life,
be the one who chose to walk on the path that he/she wants,
be the one who is incredibly different,
flaunt yourself,
it's your personalized flag that is limited edition and will never be stolen by any other creature in this world.

Progress leaps, amid lulls, for three wed muses:
Innovation, imitation, contest

Imagine, visitor, a vast room full of bits of straight string—
People stand all around, some scratch their heads, none moves,
Until our brave hero approaches slowly one little length,
Gives her a twist, and voila!
A circle.
A room full of straight strings, and one circle.

Seeing, some other soul thinks, aye! Crass,
Wrong, how unperfect!
Makes a circle too, from another pair of ends—
Look, look! He cries, much better!

On and on likewise, go men and strings,
Til not a single straight string remains,
Only circles, and men
Scratching heads, in none the foggiest idea
What’s to be done with a room full of circles.

fairy-tales, i blame my UN-satisfaction on fairy-tales
bright fancy color mixed with glitter dust and smiles hiding behind innocence was the perfect idea of exsistance engraved on my child like mind ensuring i will always strive for that level of perfection and when unattained i will turn on myself in viciousness known only by cannibalist

who is to say in this world filled with endless illusion and unrealistic drama that the life i lead is unperfect and not as good as it will ever get