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nuanced at night Nov 2020
i want to rip off my own skin

piece by piece

and stitch it back together

so that it matches hers


i want to carve my cries

into each and every bone

filing away at myself

until I fit her frame


i want to cut and cut and cut

slashing down to my core

until there is only enough fat

to mold myself into her shape


i want to scrape off my

STUPID

*******

FACE

erasing every feature

until my very essence has disappeared

and i

LOOK

LIKE

HER


her

the ever changing image of beauty

the elusive illusion of perfection


the woman we all strive to be

the woman

the image

the ideal

the ideal that not even she herself can attain
Mark Wanless Nov 2020
i walked the shores
of Agenon
for thirty years and more

it was not there

lived a long life
of hardship
on the slave ships of Stife

it was for naught

fell in love a
hundred times
never forgot one

i weep at the loss

sat on a mountain
wind blowing
through me

it was pleasant

perfection is a quest of fools
Marisela Veludo Nov 2020
What is it to be perfect?
An illusion , a special effect?
Where is perfection?
Non existent, a disconnect

There's no happiness without sadness
There's no sun without the moon
No light without the darkness
No crisis without a honeymoon

At times he drives me crazy
Annoying, somewhat lazy
I think he doesn't hear me
Conflict .....disagreeing

The way he strokes my hair
So tender, so sweet, so bare
The way his lips touch mine
A delicasy, so divine

A balance emotionally needed
At times strong, at times defeated
All this makes me feel whole
He fills the gap, there is no hole
His every single imperfection
Becomes part of my perfection
Lowkie Nov 2020
-
Why do you chase perfection?
"Because I fear rejection"
So you'd lose yourself
Just for attention
From people who don't really matter?
-
There is no such thing as perfection
She might not be perfect to you
But she's perfect to me
Because you saw her flaws
And figured she's not worth the call
I saw her flaws
And that's when her beauty started to show
-
Love your imperfections
You don't need everyone's acceptance
Trying to be something you're not
Is too much maintenance
Rather be yourself
Then the right people will accept you
Flaws and all
-
Lowkie®
Love yourself.
Sabika Nov 2020
Oh Being of perfect form.
Your love is not that of humans but
Of Love itself.
Your passion is not that of humans but
Of Passion itself.

My lovers risk
Their lives for me,
My lovers swear
They are with me unconditionally,
But
Oh Being of perfect form,
Oh most perfect model of Love and Passion.
The things you would do for me
Are beyond
Worldly
Expression.
And although you made me
Partially blind,
You love me still,
Knowing very well
The shortcomings and tendencies of my kind.
Rollercoaster Nov 2020
Normalcy is a strange word.
No definition is certain and
allowed to be called “normal”.
Differs in different lands.
And never asks for
Hate to come in its absence.
And no-one can seem to fulfil it.
Normalcy seems like a dream far away,
in a distant land that is strange.
Sometimes,
I wonder if anyone is normal.
If not,
Normalcy is perfection.
We strive for it.
And we practice diligently.
And fail to achieve it wholly.
Yet we find normalcy
that is perfection partially.
Zolayshia Oct 2020
My mom always wanted perfection.
I wanted to be perfect but I couldn't.
No matter how I tried.
I couldn't ace it.
I got depressed.
I craved perfection.
I hate this part of my identity.
I want to be perfect.
I wanna be seen as perfection.
My mom hates me cause I'm not perfect.
I can't be myself no matter how much I try.
I grew up with this pain.
Now that I've grown up.
I'm gonna be myself and not care about other people's opinions.
So my question is was perfection another barrier for my mother?
Why couldn't she love me for me?
Does she hate me that much?
Those are questions she won't answer til this day.
I was thinking about my past and how I overcame it when I wrote this.
Anais Vionet Oct 2020
You know what you want, get it. Make sure it responds to your needs - remote-control it, sub-routine it and on-demand it - wring it out.

But once you have it - something changes, doesn’t it? It loses some luster - it isn’t PERFECT, **** it. It wears out or becomes obsolete and the lust is reborn, refocused.

Do you want me? I think you want me - you seem to want to possess me - but do you actually want ME?

What if my DNA could be used to create a perfect, cloned replica - right down to the pheromones - a perfect doppelganger.

Only this - me-two - would be a commandable pleasure doll shipped, Amazon Prime - and perhaps made with a rich, warm polymer skin that wouldn’t age - wouldn’t that be even better? I think it would be better.

But forget about me - with THAT kind of technology. Think about the licensing fee Rudy Pankow could get, or gasp Chase Stokes! - ***!!! dancing around the room

yelling out “Mom!!, MomMMMMMM!!, I KNOW what I want for Christmas!!”
nothing is ever perfect - but it might be perfectly useable
MyReflections Oct 2020
I see him everyday, on a broken pieces of mirror
His pale face, body thin, Eyes sink in tears.
Cry of his belly and brain, is all he could hear
Carrying the weight of his shattered dream
His heart beats in the fear
Will he ever overcome
From this enduring nightmare.
Will someday he can see himself
As he had wish to appear?
Lost in these thoughts, every now and then
He moves here to there
So the passengers, passing on the street
Called him, 'The Street wanderer'.

Sometimes he dives into his memories
Remembering how he had come here
Remembering that once he had his loving parents
His friends, his relatives, all were there
But he left the home and brought himself alone
To do something for which the world can cheer
And as you can see, he reached nowhere
Shedding his hope with every drop of tear.


But forget, what had happened in the past
As this morning, the Sun casts
The lights of bright fortune
What he have to do
is to follow his tune.
Sitting on a bench
That serve him as bed
He takeout his dairy
And his pen.
Started to jot
Whatever in his mind
Satisfied with nothing
He scratched all, in no time
In that anger, he had on self,
He hold his head, he yelp.
He remembered the words of his parents
"Focus on studies, You are not for all this!"
Oh, how good, if he follow their instruction
At least, he can see his reflections.

Time passed from day to night
And he is still, without smile
Sitting on that very bench
He pick his dairy, in his hand
Turning the wrinkled pages, all scratched.
Marking his disbelief on himself.
But this time he is determined
And this very night, he have to find
The rhyme
The very best rhyme.
The search of Perfection
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