Perfection was created
to make us feel imperfect,
but imperfect, of course,
is the perfect thing to be.

We spend every hour of every day,
every day of every week,
trying to be different,
trying to be unique.

Our nature is to search
for answers to life's questions,
concepts we don't understand,
like "What is perfection?"

You strive to be "perfect,"
a term you don't understand.
You should be yourself
before it gets out of hand.

Surely happiness is of priority
over a word like "perfection,"
so ask yourself this,
who looks back in your reflection?

What would you have to lose
If you chose to run away?
Cause that's what I've been wondering
When my nightmares keep me awake.

Would your thoughts race for hours
With the memories of our secret place,
If you could forsee my disappearance
If you knew that we would change?

Perhaps this feeling is not justified
Because I'm over-analyzing things,
When I'm aiming for an equilibrium
In the friendships that I make.

Cause when I consider endless factors
That I cannot control and have to face,
I realize perfection is not possible
For a human to attain.

100 percent effort
100 percent of the time
100 for all my grades
100 hours of work
100 times I was the best
Perfection.
100 percent depression
100 percent of the time
100 nights I didn’t sleep
100 hours of crying
100 masks I wear every day
Perfection?
100 percent expectation
100 percent on display
100 forced smiles
100 ways I hide the pain
100 versions of myself
Perfection…

Some people say,
"I wish you were
taller"
Some people say,
"I wish your nose was a
bit bigger."
Some people say,
"I wish your lips were
smaller"
Some people say,
"I wish you were more
creative"
Some people say,
"I wish you were more
Intelligent"


But I say,
"Your Imperfection is also a
perfection for me"

An artist cries the most tears,
For art is a painful thing.
I wither my fingers to bones,
Perfecting every line of poetry.

I want it all to be perfect,
So much it starts reflecting onto my life,
The way I walk, the way I talk, the way I care too much.

Yet I am not perfect,
I'm afraid I never will be,
All this trying,
Is killing me.

From the first awakening to the sighted's sleepless death-

We're bent under times unbearable weight, between these events two,

I wont lose something beneath heaven's breath, worse,

Than the reluctant, peculiar, perfection of you.

Broken, Flawed, Imperfect.
People live among us.

Perfect,flawless, immaculate.
People live half alive.

As they try anything and everything.
To sell you a dream.
To gleam and shine.

To light up the screens.
Of teens who see.
No harm in the dream.

That being anything less.
Than them is wrong.

You have to shine.
Like they do.
Sell fake news.

Start a trend.
Make an impression.

Just don't be flawed.
In the way you speak.

Don't look broken.
Hide those eye bags underneath.

Your hair can't be imperfect.
Not a strand out of place.

Smile,gleam and shine.
The way you were always.
Influenced to.

Not a foot out of place.
Otherwise we won't allow you.
In this space.

Now fake a smile.
Won't you?

Writing doesn't pay,
My father wished for a son who could write anyways.
So I see that's what he got,
Though I think he wanted movie scripts and monologues,
Not random rhymes and songs.
Alas, even when you wish,
You never get quiet what you wished for.