I take a pill
Every night
Before bed
And it keeps away
The panic
The compulsions
The stress
The perfectionism
The drive
The desire for excellence
The 4.0 student
Everything that was
Killing me
And
Creating me
So, now I have to decide
Is it worth it?

Glutinous envy consumed
                         her features.

Once a creation of life's art.

Distortional envy cracked,
                               a fractured shell.
                      
                            Pieces fitting incorrectly.

I hate the word "perfect".


Nobody can be perfect.
It's literally impossible.

They say, "Don't change, you're perfect as you are."
Humans can't be perfect.
It's not in our nature.

Our media portrays perfection as people's personalities painted in pretty pastel.
Don't be fooled.
Perfection is disgusting.

Perfection
is tearing your hair out over a simple dashed line
in front of the "A" on the report card.

Perfection
is raking chewed cuticles across your cheeks
for missing the kick in Phy. Ed class.

Perfection
is spilling your guts out after every meal and screaming into the mirror,
"Am I perfect yet?! Am I good enough for you?!"

Perfection
is ripping apart the artwork you poured your heart into
because someone pointed out a flaw, and now you can't unsee it.

Perfection
is gorging on painkillers
as if they would take away the emotional pain, too.

Don't you dare tell me that I'm perfect
because perfection is disgusting.


I hate the word "perfect".

I want to do something
So incredibly stupid
Just to see
What happens
To see
What it feels like

But the consequences
Of my stupidity
Are such that
I could never dare
To face
To give in

But how wonderful
It would feel
If I could just
Let myself
Do something
Something stupid

Performance
Perfection
Pour them in a jar
Shake it and give a rainbow mix
Add shine and  glitter ✨
Lose the jitters
Performance remix
Perfection in a jar
Colour fix

You exist, and I wonder how.
Of desires I feared to allow?
From dreams, did God make you somehow?
By my design are you here now?

I longed for hair silky and black,
Hung to the spot I’d rub her back,
Who’d be my aphrodisiac,
By you I am taken aback.

Your hips are curved to my design,
Perfect taste when your lips meet mine,
Made as if by a poet’s line,
I am a man but you’re divine.

I saw you before I could see,
A thought I thought inside of me,
I sculpted you in fantasy,
How is it you have come to be?

i fell in love
with a boy
who is not poetry.

he is not
ink and paper
but rather
bones and blood,
curves and edges
smooth
beneath my fingertips.

he is not
definitive words
but rather
light laughter
and soft kisses,
heaven
in a few seconds.

he is not
full of hidden meanings
but rather
giving his entirety
to a girl
who needs to use it
as a blanket.

he is not
poetry.
he cannot fit
inside these lines,
be found
within finite words.
he cannot hide
between periods,
squeeze
into stanzas.

i cannot make him
poetry.
he is perfection
and poetry
is too broken
for a love like his.

I see only perfection
Take a look around
Still you will see
You are the one beacon of light
In this desolate place

I am..
Nowhere near perfect

I am..
Not amazing

I am..
Nothing like her

perfection has a heartbeat
it has rosy cheeks
tempting plump lips
that could make me sin
perfection has a heaven-sent smile
it has eyes that drive me wild
hershey colored locks
sweet-smelling and soft
perfection has a name
perfection is you