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Himaanshh Aug 2020
Let us not trade perfection
Let's exchange our flaws
and I will fall in love
with what you really are.

With what you have lost
In the dead of the past
With what you are missing
At this moment's blessing

There is crack in everything
That is how the light gets in.

Then I Questioned myself to my disappointments...

Does she even exist?
Himaanshh Aug 2020
i
am
defined by
my flaws,

my imperfections.
If you were absolutely perfect, Would you even bother to even think of working on your flaws..filling the cracks...melding the pieces? What would that make you? Would you grow?
kier Jul 2020
I climb this hell in the pursuit of perfection
Yet nothing is sufficient to please my lack of self-satisfaction
All senses, all pleasures, my every motivation
Washes away as I push myself further into isolation
i keep feeling empty, worthless, i don't feel like trying
i've just been wanting to cut off people recently
Simon Jul 2020
Caring is the way to perfection!
You sway my way in order to advance to the next round.
I'm lucky to have support from someone who actually cares!
Only until you dry my essence up and move onto the next victim!
Caring isn't for quitters!
Cox Jul 2020
To be a sad blue sky on a perfect day...
Notepad Jul 2020
The awe to beauty of graceful strokes,
as the brushes defines you the most,
tainted with love, varnished with perfection,
depicting that deeper connection,
Marion Jul 2020
andrew.
i fall to my knees at his feet with a heavy breath.
i almost feel unworthy.
this person, this man-
he's perfection in flesh and blood.
i feel blessed.
this angel, a saint with flaws, perfect flaws.
i nearly worship him.
godlike, i search his face for signs of light, anything celestial or close to it.
i find them faintly, small, unnoticeable to anyone who's wronged him.
he is perfect, and somehow, he is mine.
Nat Lipstadt Jun 2016
~

<>


nearby distant,
the soft thrash of warm waves
lapping interlocking,
happily wet tongue kissing,
sun-oven precision-crisping
the Long Island striped bass
and porgies, at a surreal cooling
77 degrees

Pandora synced to his eyes,
shuffling freely,
by saying
we too see!!
playing for him,
Stairway to Heaven (Led Zeppelin)

poor, poor poet,
strains to brain drain one more time,
conducting an ogling googling word search
for those combinatory storied ones that
sailboat glide
all the while
wildly bursting with Pellegrino effervescence

compromising sounds sights,
to present
properly the balance,
to preserve
properly this moment,
peaceful alive for all times,
as poet has tried,
and failed so many times before...

the caw caw caw of the crow mocks the illiterate human,
for the bird calls it, in single sound perfect and
the human a laughingstock,
for not in his possess,
to capture this perfect moment
of human sabbath.

a Roman Saturn day of rest,
on this day that itself,
is perfection,
perfect for celebrating our common creation,
on a day that our
almost-all-agreed-upon calendar
is marked for us to
forte rest,
from an existence of just laborious

the chubby checkered cheeked squirrels
laughingly pauses,
watching, enjoying a poet's struggle,
mind boggle,
the poet's chubby cheeks
stuffed with discarded words,
all insufficient to capture
the absolution of
absolute beauty

bathing in the noisiest of nature's sounds,
all that contravene the silence of living things,
breathing prayerful thoughts that all
summary end,
with a common gesture of
forefinger upon the lips

a human acknowledgment of
utter obeisance to the forces
calling out by example

listen, see!

silently presenting,
this,
this!!


a day that demanded perfection
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