#perfectionism
Bonsai is art my parents like
They cut here, there, left, right,
Trimming off the unkempt leaves
Cutting off the branches clean
Off of their precious banyan tree
To achieve the perfect shape
Sketched in a dog-eared page
In the book their forefathers gave.
Showing off is a must, it seems.
“What pretty leaves!” they squeal and scream.
It is no theft, but surely a steal
To have such a perfect banyan tree
With leaves and boughs so petite
Unbothered by pests and bees,
Oh, my parents always sigh in relief
Thank God theirs is dainty and neat!
Not like the beast scarring the scene
The wild and free banyan tree
With wasps and ants in its leaves
With ghosts and jinns lurking within
With the stink of **** at its feet
Grows the great banyan tree.
To stand beneath its shadowy canopy.
To stretch my hands to sky and infinity
Oh, to provide such shade and love
With roots so stable and firm.
This longing, this desire floods my trunk
Towards the banyan, I stretch my arms.
What I’d give to grow wild and untouched
Yet my branches and roots have shrunk
For the little banyan tree I have become.
May 17
May 17, 2026 at 4:54 AM UTC
Bought a set of glassware
Sowed some seeds
Was playing a video game
Reading a book
Why’s wrong with an incomplete set
What’s wrong with thinning seedlings out
Why do I need to collect all the gems, cross all levels in the game
Can’t I skip some pages, chapters, the cover, or footnotes
Do the guests arrive in a set of 6
Or they count my glassware
How does trying to grow every plant
Justify going against natures survival rule
Is the goal of the player to have fun or collection of objects
Is the book for me to read
Or I am for the book to be consumed as a compulsion
Is it one trying to reach completion
Or a learned pattern, perhaps
Fear that cannot let go
Why does the weight of one lost
Outweighs everything that exists
Either anxiety driving to achieve completion
Or sadness mourning over the incomplete
Whats wrong with acceptance
Of everything as it is
May 10
May 10, 2026 at 3:34 PM UTC
there is no way to be flawless,
i will never get a 100 on each assignment i do,
i will look my best each day,
my words will not always come out correctly,
my emotions will not always be predictable.
however,
there will always be that ringing in my ears,
to work until i fall asleep,
cheat on tests,
try on twenty different outfits each morning,
straighten my hair until it burns,
i will rehearse my words many times until they spill,
and i no longer show how i feel
Feb 26
Feb 26, 2026 at 8:40 PM UTC
one comment
an angry tone
you say it’s nothing
something all others believe
but to me it is
i am a failure
for i have failed you all again
what may seem meaningless
means to much to me
have i failed as a friend
or is it simply
all in my head?
Feb 24
Feb 24, 2026 at 11:23 AM UTC
What’s a perfect human being?
What would one look like?
Could it be that he or she—
Well, what sexuality would they be?
A woman, whose womb is the birthplace of life,
Or a man, whose strength can be felt
For thousands of miles?
Well, not a superhero.
Just someone in peak condition.
But physicality alone couldn’t be a metric of a perfect human.
Let’s make them virtuous. The kind who would leap to save a life.
Let them speak with humility, yet lead with tyrannical might.
Let them see with clarity and deliver the most nuanced insight.
Let them be competent, always completing their tasks on time.
Let them be so happy, that tears are forgotten to their eyes.
Let them be so sad, that even Poseidon floods the shores when they cry.
Let them be so ingenious, there isn’t a cure they cannot find.
Let them be so precarious, they've mapped every alternate plan in their mind.
Let them be so naive, they would even forgive the most heinous of crimes.
Let them be so angry, they erupt in rage at the tiniest bite.
Let them be so polite, that the leaves whisper their name.
Let them be so annoyed, that even the sun has to re-angle its gaze.
Let them be so kind, they’re willing to give themselves away.
Let them be so spry, they glide when they swim over the waves.
I recognize such attributes cannot be attained
By everyone, at all times.
Maybe this perfect human being exists somewhere.
However, they probably didn’t survive.
And if they did,
they came to learn:
Even an ace of all trades is still a master of none.
Feb 3
Feb 3, 2026 at 11:44 AM UTC
I'm not perfect
I have never been perfect
I will never be perfect
But knowing that
won't stop me from
trying
Jan 31
Jan 31, 2026 at 10:21 PM UTC
I was given a gift
One cold January —
A blank sheet of paper,
Crisp stationery.
It lay there in silence,
Waiting for me —
Or someone far brighter,
A true visionary.
My visions were grand,
But never quite right.
Too scared to begin,
Afraid I might blight
The page with my pen.
So I sat there each night,
Just staring it down —
Wondering what I should write.
Years passed.
The page stayed bare.
So many lines
I never wrote.
So much of me
I never spoke.
And when, at last,
I touched the page
with trembling pen —
I wrote:
𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑬𝒏𝒅
Jan 16
Jan 16, 2026 at 7:49 PM UTC
What’s a perfect human being?
What would one look like?
Could it be that he or she—
Well, what sexuality would they be?
A woman, whose womb is the birthplace of life,
Or a man, whose strength can be felt
For thousands of miles?
Well, not a superhero.
Just someone in peak condition.
But physicality alone couldn’t be a metric of a perfect human.
Let’s make them virtuous. The kind who would leap to save a life.
Let them speak with humility, yet lead with tyrannical might.
Let them see with clarity and deliver the most nuanced insight.
Let them be competent, always completing their tasks on time.
Let them be so happy, that tears are forgotten to their eyes.
Let them be so sad, that even Poseidon floods the shores when they cry.
Let them be so ingenious, there isn’t a cure they cannot find.
Let them be so precarious, they've mapped every alternate plan in their mind.
Let them be so naive, they would even forgive the most heinous of crimes.
Let them be so angry, they erupt in rage at the tiniest bite.
Let them be so polite, that the leaves whisper their name.
Let them be so annoyed, that even the sun has to re-angle its gaze.
Let them be so kind, they’re willing to give themselves away.
Let them be so spry, they glide when they swim over the waves.
I recognize such attributes cannot be attained
By everyone, at all times.
Maybe this perfect human being exists somewhere.
However, they probably didn’t survive.
And if they did,
they came to learn:
Even an ace of all trades is still a master of none.
Jan 8
Jan 8, 2026 at 11:39 AM UTC
The all-imperfect, perfect eye
Selects the flaws to magnify
The brokenness of every place
But most of all his perfect face
The all-imperfect, perfect ear
Amplifies what he can’t hear
Their judgments neither thought nor heard
He fancies from a careless word
The all-imperfect, perfect grin
Conceals his every waking sin
His teeth a whitewashed brick-wall shell
Protecting words he’ll never tell
The all-imperfect, perfect skin
Repulses friend and foe and kin
His colors warn of toxic touch
Alight so they won’t see him such
The all-imperfect, perfect nose
Detects a stench in every rose
He registers from wind and breeze
Whatever acrid smell he please
The all-imperfect, perfect heart
Can only ever be restart
From tending what long past has died
A nursing of the child inside
Jan 3
Jan 3, 2026 at 12:46 AM UTC
How to befriend my shame?
Shame is a real bad game
I'm on my own in solitude
Betrayed myself again.
Shame means your throat is soar,
You're thinking you're a *****
You're speaking with distasteful rage,
You're thrown by yourself into a cage.
It's hard to be aware
Shame makes us feel dispair
And lose all self-belief
With shame there's no relief
Shame exists when usually
We'd love to die instead
Shame makes living on
Feeling like a threat
Facing truth becomes impossible
With shame
We are trying to protect
Our own name
Healing seems to be a threat to our
Existence
Because shame is carrying
Persistence
After all, I'm trying to befriend it
Even after it made my life freaking hard
I am truly trying to understand it
And to let fall down my darkest guard
I know for a fact that my perfectionism
Hasn't brought me anything but pain
Shame has taught me to give up that game
Because humans will always feel shame.
Dec 10, 2025
Dec 10, 2025 at 7:59 PM UTC
There was this 3D printer
The fastest in the house
To other printers, it was faster
The owners’ favourite in the house
There was this 3D printer
It went to a printing competition
It placed second, but felt like a loser
Improving it self, it started it’s mission
There was this 3D printer
The printer demanded an upgrade
To be faster than the others
And the owners were always happy to pay
The 3D printer keeps competing
It goes to nationals to win
Far away from its owner
And it just keeps going
Keeps going,
Until it explodes.
Unknown at the time to the printer,
It still forever is the owners' favourite printer.
Nov 16, 2025
Nov 16, 2025 at 11:12 AM UTC
If I were to start again, I would do everything perfectly.
That’s the benefit of hindsight.
I’d sleep for exactly eight hours every night.
Every day I’d eat three square meals with balanced nutrition.
Every week I’d manage my finances and save every penny so that I can buy a three-bedroom house for my perfect family by the time I’m thirty.
But first, I’d travel the world: learning every language, exploring nature, absorbing culture and cuisine.
After I’ve got my two degrees of course.
So, I’d study through my youth to get the perfect grades.
But not too much, I still need perfect friends.
Maybe I’d go to a party, but I’d never get drunk nor touch a cigarette.
I’d always wear the perfect amount of makeup and do my skincare nightly.
But of course, I wouldn’t start my skincare too young, that would harm my skin barrier.
And don’t worry, I’ll wear sun cream every day.
I know I won’t have my parents for long, so I’ll spend time with them.
But not too much.
I know how important that teenaged distancing phase is.
My hair will always be in perfect, tidy curls.
‘A curler’ you say? Oh no, don’t you know what heat does to your hair?
I’ll donate to charity every month.
Which one?
Environment? Mental health? Homelessness? Animal shelters? Humanitarian aid…?
The list goes on, I can’t decide who needs me the most.
Maybe I’ll just donate to them all.
But not too much.
I still must save.
I’ll never consume too much, or too little.
No more than thirty minutes on a screen.
10,000 steps every day and meditation in the morning.
Ten years of work experience by the time I graduate high school.
I think I should have a dog. I should learn to cook. To garden. To write. To paint. To play chess. To sew my own clothes.
I need to be the perfect mother. Wife. Friend. Daughter.
I should run a marathon. I should write a book. And maybe win an Oscar, for the acting career I have on the side.
I’ll clean my bedsheets every week and use silk pillowcases.
What kind of chopping board should I use again?
Plastic? Wooden? Metal…?
If I could start again, I could try and do everything perfectly.
Or I could try just living instead?
Oct 21, 2025
Oct 21, 2025 at 9:10 AM UTC
If I were only to write,
Something nonsensical,
Filled up with passion
And half-baked metaphor,
If only, I would give up
My perfectionism
And logical poetic applications.
Why must I overthink?
Why must I think at all
About something
That is so simply,
Meant to be felt?
Sep 23, 2025
Sep 23, 2025 at 1:33 AM UTC
She runs rampant,
Dancing with the demons,
While the angels
Flutter dauntless above.
A combination of both,
She is,
Filled with endless, burning love.
Eyes of flames,
That lick at the lips,
And a mouth,
Of sinful wit and smoke.
She has a laugh,
That draws lovers near,
And snakes to Eden.
And her tears,
Which shake the world,
And make Heaven itself cry.
She is perfect.
And she is a monster.
She is the fiery one,
With six, great wings
To hold her high above it all.
Enjoy the view,
But do not be fooled,
She is the fiery one,
With the deepest depths to fall.
Aug 28, 2025
Aug 28, 2025 at 12:58 AM UTC
Art is so beautifully misunderstood,
You can't sing,
Unless your voice,
Is selling out stadiums.
You can't paint,
If your artistry isn't displayed in a gallery,
Locked away for the rest of time to see.
You can't play piano,
If you don't compare to Mozart
Or Beethoven, or Bach.
And, why would you ever,
Bother to write a poem,
If Shakespeare has
Already, lived and died,
And Emily Dickenson,
Has said her goodbyes?
Art is useless,
Unless you are great,
Art is meaningless,
Unless it can be bought and sold —
Capitalized, until the world is content.
That's what society has taught us,
But they so beautifully misunderstand.
And so,
We forget that art,
Is so, beautifully human.
As long as we have been here,
We've been creating,
Singing, dancing, growing
Our prose will be here, always,
Writing our names into the skyline,
Keeping us here,
Even when we fade away.
Art is what makes us human,
It's not for money or fame,
It's what proves we're alive,
And that we haven't changed
In a millennium.
The famous artists,
Never meant to be known,
They only ever meant,
To live.
And I am the same,
In my mind and soul,
I don't want to be recognized,
I just want to write,
And be me.
Aug 6, 2025
Aug 6, 2025 at 2:56 PM UTC
What am I but hollow?
This empty cage, this rusted prison
A phantom trapped within myself.
My bones are stripped bare,
And my soul is leaking,
Dripping away down the bars,
Wasting away, like a cigarette.
I am a criminal of my own identity,
Betraying myself at every turn.
Promises; Promises,
I've made myself a million promises,
And I have broken them, shattered them,
Torn myself up on the many remains.
And now,
Every, single, error haunts my soul,
Each one pressing me deeper down,
Pushing me harder, closer, to oblivion.
I trip under the weight,
Scrape my knees on rock bottom,
And point the blame at myself
This blood surely, I deserve to bleed.
Justification of one's actions,
By accusation of the mirror
Is the most dangerous act of self support.
I am crushed by the shame,
By the weight of my own mistakes,
My bones, my foundation, crumbling,
Like a disgraced version of Atlas.
I now live life, for that day,
Where all of my guilt fades like smoke,
And I am free, from my own blame.
Until then, I will tirelessly strive, fight, battle,
To be better,
Every moment,
Every day,
Melius esse; Melius esse.
Aug 5, 2025
Aug 5, 2025 at 10:08 AM UTC
Mother, I said something I shouldn't today
I wavered like water
One drop out of place
As I learned, I looked around 'til I knew every face
And all of the right things to say
I must be your daughter
Father, cold hands just keeping dragging me down
Collecting my anger
Like puddles of mud on the ground
Later, at least I can say that I'm proud
Though it feels like a vice – to cool down like ice
I must be your daughter
Aug 5, 2025
Aug 5, 2025 at 9:42 AM UTC
C’est parce que, dès lors que je touche une note,
J’ai l’impression qu’elle sonne faux.
Parce que je me déteste au moment où je rate un panier,
Un saut d’obstacle,
Un verbe irrégulier.
Jul 15, 2025
Jul 15, 2025 at 12:19 PM UTC
a woman's entire existence
must be an oxymoron
"look the prettiest!"
don’t be vain.
"smile always!"
you're too naïve.
"stand tall!"
no, crouch down.
"we love a feisty girl!"
patience is a virtue.
"yes!"
no.
"Yes!"
n o .
"yes!!!"
NO.
we are a juxtaposition of
what we want,
and what is expected of us;
who we are,
and who we must be
to survive.
perfection is attained
and society satisfied
when a woman
turns herself
inside out
and
upside down.
after all,
don't you know -
opposites attract?
Jul 20, 2025
Jul 20, 2025 at 5:11 PM UTC
i am a museum of my own creation.
the parts of myself exhibited to the public
are moulded, polished, photographed,
whilst the rest of me lays
dusty and forgotten.
how can anyone ever truly know me
when i am only
a moment, a picture, a fleeting idea
encapsulated as a whole?
but none of it is real.
and if it's all falsehood,
then what am I?
Jul 9, 2025
Jul 9, 2025 at 8:02 AM UTC
My victories are none
In this looking glass of mine
Only these faults remain
To drown me in their endless eyes
Jun 6, 2025
Jun 6, 2025 at 12:34 AM UTC
She'll nail the audition, she always does
She even gets the lead more often than not,
But like clock work, her performance declines with each rehearsal
She can't hit the notes,
Her costume begins fitting funny,
Don't get me started on her choreography,
But she'll pursue, until she's booed
Off the stage on opening night.
And this is her curse,
She'll nail the first verse,
And have seemingly no control as she gets worse
Apr 23, 2025
Apr 23, 2025 at 4:41 PM UTC
Perfectionism is so far away from reality.
Embracing this moment is more than enough.
Apr 20, 2025
Apr 20, 2025 at 5:08 PM UTC
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.
Mar 31, 2025
Mar 31, 2025 at 4:06 PM UTC