My victories are none
In this looking glass of mine
Only these faults remain
To drown me in their endless eyes

Perfectionism is so far away from reality.
Embracing this moment is more than enough.

i never noticed the pimples placed around my cheeks and the roughness of my hands intertwined around soft ones. i never batted an eye at my failed attempt at wing eyeliner until i saw girls my age’s eyelashes were longer than mine and their eye makeup sparkled with the L.E.D lights at parties. then i made it my mission to pump three pumps of lotion onto my hands and wash my face religiously and spend thirty minutes in the mirror before school, even if it meant i’d be late. i never knew the standards i set for myself until i realized the pedestal was too high for me to climb. i always told myself i wasn’t afraid of heights but broke down in tears when i got back my test and saw my teacher’s red-inked mark ups. faults of mine swallowed me whole and spat me out into a more flawed version of myself with tears smearing down my cheeks and smudged eyeliner covering my eyes and pimple patches peppered on my face and dry skin all up my arms. i wrote perfectionist in big, bold red letters but was too perfect to notice. i always told myself i wasn’t afraid of heights so i went above and beyond my ambitions, too consumed to realize my high standards were too high for me to reach.

I have been watching myself for years.
It has taken years to destroy each knot
each rule, each limit, and each principle
to finally accept that a fractured self is still capable of wholeness.
Chains and fences and harsh lines
These things I built up so tightly
for a sense of purpose and identity.
Proximity to perfection is not synonymous with safety
Although it can feel that there is no truer guideline
than one's own.
We must allow space to fail and meet our limits
meet our shadows
connect with our benefactor, humility.
To constantly be running toward an undetermined end
is to be critical with no reward.
When will you ever be good enough for yourself
if you never stop to sit and look around.

She smiles because she's your go-to child
The one that gets all the praise
The one who accepts all your rage
Even as she's growing
You won't ever know it
Because hormones are bad
And mood-swings won't ever be had
Even though she hates it
She smiles as she fakes it
Her facade or innocence
Is quite actually painfully brilliant
She has everyone around her finger
Though the tightness of it always stings her
She smiles as she's called sweet
Kind and lovely
Smart and hardworking
Honest and trustworthy
Strong and preserving
Beautiful and genuine
Because she's not she's
Mean and unlikeable
Dumb and lazy
A liar and unhonest
Ugly and fake
But somehow no one sees
Her broken and horrid self
Through her sickly sweet
Kind and innocent
Full of joy and love
Fake facade

Education
Something that is revered for its ability to change people's lives for the better, help people escape poverty, change the world.

For me?
School almost killed me.

At face value, it doesn't make much sense.
I wasn't being bullied, ridiculed.
I excelled.

But without my identity as the "smart kid" and doing well in school, I thought I was nothing.
Had no other skills or values to contribute.
I tried hard to break free from this thinking,
Tried so incredibly hard,
But this feeling haunted me.
For many years.

I know that's harsh and not true, but my brain was hell bent on this reality.
So I pushed myself to untold lengths to excel in undergrad, tiptoeing on a balance beam, bad marks threatening to push me off the ledge.

No way to live.

Being out of school and in work I learned that I was so much more than a student.
A volunteer, friend, girlfriend, daughter, granddaughter, hiker, traveller, runner, baker, advocate, warrior.
This saved my life.

So it makes sense now back in full-time school again where memorization and multiple choice rules that I feel the familiar sensation that all I am is a student and a slave to school.
It makes sense the transition has been insanely difficult when I'm returning to what nearly killed me.

This time, I know better, I'm in control.
I will not allow school to take its toll.
I will protect myself and who I've grown to be,
and never let school be the end of me.

Her voice like a song
Running its fingertips through my hair
Ivory chords and wind blowing
Orange-coloured like that of dawn
Soft like a laugh and syrup

Her music isn’t just noises, and all along
It twists and dances like spells in the air
Emerald notes and feeling flowing
Blue-coloured like the sand and sea’s bond
Sweet like love as you try to keep up

She swings bright and long
Skipping in the sky with me, kind and fair
Quartz singing and so much heart showing
Violet-coloured like the rest of them, gone
Short like time we have, siphoned from our cup

But I’m a cacophony compared to her song
It’s all just noises and all along
I cry when I fall, harsh and long
I’m a cacophony when compared to her song

But I can’t hear the music playing in my hair
It’s angled and tripping over all of the air
I see what she sees, but it’s mean and not fair
I can’t hear the music that plays in my hair

But I fail and it’s dusk when she is the dawn
It’s low tide and the water breaks its bond
I run and I scream and my sound is gone
I fail and it’s dusk when she’d rather be dawn

But I prefer plain and not sticky sweet syrup
It’s hard to try but I must and I cannot give up
I wish for a drink, but from my still empty cup
I am quite plain and not sticky sweet syrup.