I used to think I was flawless, truth is I am less than perfect.
I can't believe how awful I am, but I mean, what do you expect?
I am less than perfect, that much is true, but I can't help but wonder
What does perfection physically look like? Each of these ideas I plunder.

I don't know. I'm not sure about anything anymore. Haven't a clue.
Everywhere I look, it's just multiple copies of the darkest shade of blue.
Everyone stares at me, their soulless eyes, a dead, glazed look.
So I try to keep my head down, hiding behind my many notebooks.

Perfect. Why even have a word for something that doesn't exist?
It's a useless word, something I try to avoid but it always persists.
Sometimes I think about if I were perfect. What would I look like? Act?
Then I try to push the many thoughts away, they're way too abstract.

What does it mean to be perfect? It means to not have ANY flaws.
That's all I'll ever hear, "Be more perfect, you'll gain some applause!"
I hate that I have live with this idea of perfection, it's a "utopia", so dumb.
So I have to change myself to be the person that people want me to become.

You are as you were
No more needing to be said
With eyes that bore tears in joy and sadness
And heart that consistently bled
And mine and your hands locked together
To brave life’s twisted sense of humor
And I knew that, in that, we’d overcome the world

We were never perfect
That’s needing to be heard
Ever present were these jars of truth
Bitter tasting, well preserved
With hands clasped we understood it could not be fathomed
As we locked eyes, yes, words, yes, but never hearts

Maybe that’s the good in it
A gift in cross’ed stars
The reality of a ever present door
That we both know is ajar
The knowing that the hand we hold can build the other up
With the power that so easily can rip us apart

You were the one I’d always wanted
I was the one you leaned upon
With me not knowing what you were
And your faith in your strength long gone
My love for you unending, understated, undeterred
And your love for me one undoubted, but for me undetermined

Each time you speak I hear you
This world’s distraction become blurred
You serve your homemade truths
And I swallow every single word
Can’t decipher lies because I know only what you convey
And in that, you’re the most honest person I know

Our views of each other work
On the level that was stand
Where we get to choose what we convey
As we offer each other a hand
The preachings of the lying tongue and giving of stolen things
An knowledge of the mystery forever kept

Maybe this is not worth the chance
Our self destructive ways
The pure carnage we could leave behind
In our search to escalate
Satan’s aspirations to rise are what led to the fall
So maybe to stay divine, we must stay content

And so we look, we taste, we hear
And we feel that that’s enough
Maybe in leaving the uncertain just that
The relationship is safe from us
Or maybe this is just the lie we earnestly believe
In fear that the rise will be more painful than the fall

She was flawed, completely; but not in the way she thought.

She was flawed in the way an artist ruins a white canvas with a beautifully colored sunset.

she was damaged, in the way the night sky is broken by the dawn

If the ride to heaven was on our halo, we’d all be going to hell.

I am defective
but I am striving
to improve my self
into my ideal self.

I am flawed
but I am striving
to correct my self
into my ideal self.

I am unhappy
but I am striving
to improve my self
into optimal
joy and happiness.

In the pursuit of truth
and justice and growth,
we cannot celebrate our angels
without acknowledging our demons.
Each of us are flawed humans.
We are magnificent disasters.
In our mutual struggles to breathe
and survive a mad world,
every step we take
and every word we speak
is a work of art.

–Ron Gavalik

Why is it that we feel so fundamentally flawed? We are never good enough, never enough, are never understood, always bring about anger. We may be educated, but we feel so stupid....we are looked down on as the "stupid" one. The one who talks *******. We are somehow ALWAYS wrong. We are wrong. Its so tiring, trying to do good, and yet always failing. Failing somewhere. Trying to help others, we fail eventually. Stuck like this, feeling like an imbecile, who needs to be avoided. Hiding in this house, a prison. They look down on us. We might write, poetry, stories, music, no one is interested, no one wants to hear, there is always something wrong with it. Can never be heard. We are ignored. Perhaps by the ignorant, yet ignorant people can make us feel so weak, stupid, and irrelevant. We may feel overly sensitive, to protect those we love (not related to us, yet have become adopted families), and in doing so we are met with anger from our own. We are a disgrace,. A disgrace to society. Deserve all the pain. Nobody wants to hear us anyway. Nobody really cares. You see, they think we are "doing it for attention"...attention seekers.....out to hurt everyone else. Thats what they think. If we dare speak out - they ignore. They think to ignore is to teach us a lesson, it is to stop us from speaking about our pain. That we need to learn to stop talking about it. To keep it to ourselves, because we do not matter. It feels we do not matter at all. We are fundamentally flawed. And always will be. The good we do for others, is never enough. Its just NEVER enough. We face criticism even for WANTING to help others. Nobody understands. And maybe thats because we are fundamentally flawed. How can we ever be understood.