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MicMag Dec 2018
sometimes you just
gotta sit down and write
just grab the apple
and take a bite
just take a leap
into the dark night

if you want to be a poet
you gotta write poems
let the words go
wherever the wind blows em

sometimes your lines will ****
other times blow you away
but stay firm on that writing path
don't be led astray
by laziness and perfectionism
saying you can't do it
don't give in, knock em down
push yourself right through it

let the poem be what it is
let its rhymes ring true
knowing as much
as you're writing the poem
it's also writing you
success comes
through failure
improvement comes
through the grind
go ahead
write bad poems
they'll make you better
in due time
distended the pearls are red and uncovered
upon my mistakes. erasure taunts.

something stirs unbidden strangely
familiarity dissolves in tears

suddenly distant the sun streaks
through the black waves

nothing works anymore

- Vijayalakshmi Harish
         02.01.2013
        Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish
Marieta Maglas Oct 2011
A white bird flying at day
Or a black bird flying at night
Or a black bird flying at day
Or a white bird flying at night
Black and white, black over white 
Oh,my Lord, how painful can be 
This need of touch in his absence
White and black, white over black
Oh,my Lord, how painful can be 
This absence of his touch
Black penetrating white
And white penetrating black
Never finding the gray.
Category: Poetry
MCN: CDXA6-8SNLU-71NDM
© copyright Mon Dec 27 19:25:35 UTC 2010 - All Rights Reserved- From The prison of my mind
Jordan Frances Mar 2014
Whenever I do
What they suggest in therapy
I ***** my friends over.
They say
Do something for yourself for once
But whenever I try
I am being selfish
In someone else's eyes.
And so
I allow myself to crumble
To self-destruct
But as long as I don't disappoint anyone
I feel just fine.
Rose Ruminations Aug 2014
She spits fire
Stands strong
Feet planted:
No mercy
Unyielding

She is belladonna
She is the femme fatale
She is unattainable
And she revels it that.

Solitude lends itself to sweet dreams and optimism
Without the threat of slowing down
Without the weight of children's bodies
Without the teeth and claws of responsibility
Sinking soul-shudderingly deep
Into her body

Or so she tells herself
When faced with her
Swarms of unhappy thoughts
Gnat-like they flutter
Around her head

But she will not let them in

Because that is vulnerability
That is admitting weakness
That is being human

And she will never admit her *hamartia
allsmallletters Mar 2019
Forget the onion and all its layers
thats obvious
You are undeserving for such a cliché
So I invite a different perspective
Think of a base, flour and egg kneaded together like I need you,
so dense in identical morals
Folded with mirrored ideology of future fortuity
Dipped sensually with a sauce so thick,
Thicker than blood or water,
Blended as one to create a sea of red as deep as our hearts pumping vitality
Sprinkled softly with the most palatable, mouth watering mozzarella
Each placing full of utter affection,
Long lost stares while you sit innocent to me feasting my eyes upon your moreish persona.
The only quandry we must face is whose decision that day of toppings to showcase
Who gets the chance to tease additional flavours, delicious tasters
To open eyes to attributes unseen before,
Hopes set high to electrify taste buds
Wanting the other to crave more

Ingredients brought together for a flavoursome pizza
You are my hawaiian
As i,
Your meatfeast.

Opposing trimmings
Eachothers 1st choice
One anothers perfection to quench their dying hunger
The anaolgy I concoted best used to describe my relationship.
My partner and I have opposite interests, humour, and past times,
but we sit firmly in a body of identical morals, integrity and honour, mirroring each others.
A pizza is nothing without a strong base.
Toppings can be changed and mixed to any combination.
The base is the structure of our love, ***** and rigid.
The toppings are interchangeable extras that we diversify daily to develop and grow together.
Ross Robbins Sep 2011
Looked in the lint trash
What, a bucket of spiders?
But that's just my smarm, I mean
Charm, yes so charming, I

Feel I should tell
You: See, I am the kind
Of a man whose particles of rage all blend blisters into macrame
What? That's to say I only craft with vengeance, Art is Hell.

I'm not really sure, see, it seems I
have so many words inside and yet
No order, no syntax, no form, no norm.

Can't spin A.D.D. into gold, No,

I can't tremble, blink, then in that
Blink! Distill a miracle
Of words whose sentience, er,
Sentence myself to the chair,

The chair at the computer where,
Confounded,
I shiver and sigh, sob, eye.
AmateurPoet Mar 2017
The monster of perfectionism//eats away at me in the bones//and when I finally disappear//no body will ever know
Corina Dec 2014
I always try to be perfect
and every day I fail
there's lists around my room and in my head
of things needed to be improved
and I wouldn't know where to start
or when

maybe life's not about being perfect
but I still think I should
at least try
julianna Jun 2018
I have a parasite.
It's called perfectionism
It causes me to have overwhelming brain spasms
When you ask me to do something out of my
"comfort zone"
If I try to do it, I have to battle against the parasite.
It says things like:
"This is too hard."
"Give up, it's easier."
"You don't care about this!"
I'm practicing self-soothing methods,
Ways to drown out the little parasite's
Nagging voice.
It is difficult.
It is hard.
But I am stronger, I am the host.
samasati Aug 2012
sail boats
and oceans

and really anything that floats and carries a person

far away
in a big body of water

I don’t think I have to say why

it’s obvious

I’m sure everyone has a thing for sail boats
and oceans

I like busses too
I seem to get really impatient on them, and I like that a lot
because I know I can’t do anything about it

it’s a game of
Will I Go Crazy Or Will I Have A Snooze?

I like being stuck between being stuck and being unstuck

one day I want to sit on a bus for 24 hours and see what happens
(I will be doing a lot of that in the month of October)

I’ll bring books, my iPod and movies to watch on my laptop
but I’ll probably just stare out the window hours on end
tall buildings will turn into blurry trees and blurry trees
will turn into pixilated neon canola crops
and there’ll be cows and ponies and one long road

to Montreal
then Toronto

then who the **** knows where because I am already dreading
going home after the trip
even though I haven’t left for the trip yet

it’s months to come

I have a thing for finding a new home
everywhere I go

but I never find one

I like the process of looking for a really long time
then giving up from discouragement and sad feelings of
abandonment stemmed from my childhood daddy issues

I’m pretty sure everyone has daddy-abandonment issues

I have a thing for assuming every one has the same problems
that I do

but it turns out that there are loads of girls that like to eat
lots
and don’t feel ashamed of the extra scoop of
double fudge ice cream

and there are teenagers that get along with their fathers
and look up to them
they go out for lunches and joke about dates and fix cars
and tell their little girls they’ll always be their little girls
and go on awkward shopping sprees and barbecue

but everyone has a thing for sail boats and water
we all want to escape

our eating disorder and drinking problem
a skinny body or a bulky body
bad grades and perfectionism
the people pleasing pushovers
fathers and mothers and old european traditions
family dinners that go perfectly and are so boring because of it

the fragility of feeling unique
the arrogance of feeling unique
the lack of faith in ourselves

being alone
NitaAnn Aug 2013
Sometimes the case of the letter
makes all the difference.  
God or god.
An important personal I or a misplaced letter i.
Summer the girl or summer the season.  
The uppercase letter delineates between importance and the ordinary.

Perfectionism is a haunt of mine.  
It is a ghost that follows me
And does not stop no matter what I'm doing.  
It kills a day in a blink.  
It turns anxiety inside/out.  
It takes away my care for something good;
Even the smallest of outcomes.

F@#k it.

That is perfectionism in two simple words.
If I cannot do it right then I refuse to do it at all.
  How dangerous is that?
Or rather... how stupid is that?

I see my world in black and white.  
Absolutes.
  You are either right or wrong.
Good or bad.  
Smart or stupid.
I have a ridiculously logical brain.
Logic is the glue that holds the shards of me together.
Without this reason,
I probably would have landed in the crazy house a long time ago.
Logic is my reality.  
If I can reason it; it exists.  
If I cannot; it must not be.

And there is the problem.
There is nothing logical about my past.
Although it seems that abusers have a handbook;
the logic chapter is always found
To be ripped out, shredded, and burned.
  They left that part of it up to us to figure out;
To understand their evil.  
That is what makes us crazy in the first place.
So the harder I try to understand;
The crazier I get.  Literally.
I cannot reason what was done to me
And so sets in denial.
I can't understand it;
I can't make it right.
So f@#k it.

The abundance of f@#k its has really slowed me down.  
Nearly to a halt and I'm not just talking about my mental healing.
This is my real life too.
Housekeeping, taking care of myself,
Dieting, exercise, blah blah blah...
you get the picture.
If I can't do it right and perfect;
Then I won't do it at all.  
All great thoughts to live by.

This thinking is not something easy to change.
It is a deep part of who I am.  
It is also something that makes me feel normal.
Normal exactly long enough until
I realize that normal people don't do math and physics problems for fun.
But I digress because my weirdness belongs in a whole other post.  

I have steps to take.
  One at a time.  
Crying just one time worked for me.
  And then I did it again.  
Getting up early once
Led to me getting up early again AND working out.
It doesn't have to be all or nothing
Sometimes it's alright to be somewhere and in between.  
I don't have to be completely healed or entirely wounded.
  
I'm still crazy;
Even with the steps towards tears and feeling.  
But I have progress now
Because I have downgraded letters;
Even if it is just one.
Now I'm just crazy.

crazy with a little "c"...
Ginelle Gonzalez Sep 2011
If you grasp tight to your
                         individualism,
Give in to all the
                      romanticism,
Rid of any
         materialism,
Confide within
                   professionalism,
Drop all acts of
                      favoritism,
Eject from any
                vulgarism,
Open up to
           socialism,
Advocate
              activism,
Realize you are an
                          organism,
Forget about any
                     perfectionism,
And explore inside
                           transcendentalism,
You will look up into complete
                                          mesmerism
of how all the stars are
                               symbolism
for the billion versions of
                                   creationism
that you've ever lived,
                             and will live.
Emily May 2019
what if
you took a step back,
saw your life as
the work of art it is,
made beautiful by
tireless perfectionism and
ultimate lack of control,
treasured creations and
unseen shadows,
internal battles and
conflicting thoughts,
all together striking
balance,
contrast,
a wilderness of
human intricacy?
Empire Mar 2019
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?
I don't want to feel like that, but now I've lost what made me special...

I either have to return to who I was or move forward as someone else...
Marieta Maglas Oct 2015
(Pedro said,)


When we cross this line between friendship and hostility,
We need a lot of attraction to save our marriage
And to compensate for what's lost; a betrayal facility,
Thus, is created; '' '' Miguel says that something to disparage



(Carla continued,)



Is the contradiction between spouses, which can be useful
When your partner becomes a thought of your consciousness
Evolving in meditation; our passion of love is truthful,
When we understand the things that are discrepant or less



(Carla continued,)



Familiar; Miguel suggests that the idea about
The perfection can be continued in another marriage,
Which can be performed after the divorce; ’’ ‘’ Bella said that, no doubt,
These tensions being teased by some *** led to zero and disparage.



(Replied Pedro. He continued,)



Miguel and Bella needed each other's opinion
Without expressing any certain aspect of their
Divergent thinking; Miguel could hold dominion
Over your heart because you were vulnerable and too fair.



(Pedro added,)



You took care of your beauty to maintain this attraction,
In our relationship, but your beauty caught his attention,
Because Bella didn't give him too much satisfaction.''
''Her love was based on sense and sensibility rather than



(Carla continued,)



Reason and emotion; ’’ ‘’you've made an effort to have a precise
Grace; you use flowers for your body bath while poetry can clean
Your soul; you eat less and move more than others; so, take this advice
And be natural like Eve; you know what I mean.''



(Replied Pedro. Carla replied,)



''I wanted to prevent this tragic end- the infidelity.
Miguel told me that we had never been together as soulmates
While you had thought that my ideas had meant the absurdity
Of the perfectionism; '' '' you pushed me to the betrayal gates



(Pedro continued,)



In order to separate me from Beatrice; every time
I left home, you were wondering if I would do this or not.''
''Our marriage was approved by God; from children we hear His chime,
And your relationship with Beatrice will come to naught.




(Carla continued,)




Miguel was better than you because he chose a platonic
Way to betray his wife; I've just been humiliated
While negotiating my love with Beatrice; so chronic
Were her manners to discourage me, but I've communicated



(Carla continued,)


With you against odds; Miguel had been in search for other
Soulmates; Then, he could admire Bella; God didn't give them
Kids but they didn't divorce 'cause she wanted to be a mother.
In an impure marriage, there's a betrayal I can't condemn.’’



(Pedro said,)


'' The sin is the occasion for grace while bringing repentance, ''
'' The sin can only diminish this hope to comprehend
Our Lord while we can return to the position of acceptance
Through the pure procreation; without name or end



(Carla continued,)



Is the suffering of our children, and they are innocent;
I lost the idea of perfection while you were living
In sin; the darkness led you to self-destruction; now, ignorant
While living in anger and passion, you need His forgiving.



(Carla continued,)



Being like Bella, I have chosen the human sacrifice.''
''This perfectionism is an illusion and, in reality,
We die all; we are all sinners to give up the paradise.
On Earth, to find the original perfection is a fantasy.



(Pedro continued,)



We can't be rescued. I prefer the peace of my mind
To this fight for salvation; I prefer an ephemeral,
Pleasant life instead of it; '' I understand that you're still blind.
That's why I have a deep relationship with Christ, in general.



(Carla continued,)



I'm forced to accompany you in an aimless journey-
A vagrancy; you forced me to accept this new reality
That would change my destiny; the devil is your attorney.''
'' A need for a sinful freedom lies in your normality.



(Pedro continued,)



You end up ignoring the devil in front of death.
Don't forget that you stay in a haunted house; '' ''I'm searching
For some viable solutions and for the heaven's breath.''
To be a mother is a reality; I'm fighting



(Carla continued,)



To save my family; '' ''your moral awareness leads
To unhappiness and anger; '' ''you provoke me to fight
To keep you while using sarcasm to banish all my needs.''
''This method keeps my rivals at bay; '' '' you insult me despite


(Carla continued,)



My faithfulness; you use this jealousy to make me love you
Unconditionally; '' '' Christianity can't bring the man
To the initial Eden; so, love me as I am, though
I'm not your Adam, Eve! '' ''Pedro, I am your woman! ''



(He embraced her and started to make love with her after so many years.)


(To be continued…)

Poem by Marieta Maglas
Luna Maria Dec 2017
Do you know that voice, always yelling at you? That voice from inside your head? The voice yells the worst insults.
Try to fight it, but you'll never win, because the voice knows all of your weaknesses. It's made by your worst enemy, you can never defeat.
Yourself.
Try to ignore, but the voice is sneaky, and will come at the most unexpected moments. It will break through the silence. To break you.
Try to escape, but the voice will always follow you, wherever you go. And it will never stop, until you break under the pressure.
Try to stay strong, but the voice keeps yelling until you start to believe.
The voice is done when all the lies become truths. Then the scariest part begins, when the voice stops yelling and starts whispering:

"You aren't good enough."

Do you hear that voice too?
Perfectionism can be very hard. Never underestimate.
Debanjana Saha Mar 2018
Hi dear
perfectionist anxiety
A monster who craves for me
I said I no longer love you
You make my life miserable
To reach to a point
Where I belong nowhere.

Believe me,
I never love to be
Release me
I am better off without you
I would love to be free
Let me go, please!
The perfectionist anxiety hits me everyday
In each of my step. No wonder I would never want to be how I am. Let me go and live in ☮️.
Nareg Bostanian Sep 2012
Sometimes I feel so caved in,
With all my thoughts, all I can do is swim.
Through these energies that are flowing from within,
Just because I cant stop and ask what’s with him?
Why do I always have to make a choice,
My mind just wont let me be free,
I feel like I have to make a decision
but that’s not how Ive learned to be.
So let me tell you about this chick I know,
Shes not like all them girls that we always see,
The first time I met her I grabbed her by the arm,
I knew there was a story that was deep.
I looked in her eyes and all I can see,
her color contacts, that were trying to deceit.
But deep down inside there was a story that was real,
Her eyes and smile did a good job to disguise,
But that didn’t fool me,
I wanted to know the story that underlies.
The reason why she seemed so attractive to me.
Im not ususally a sucker for eyes, but the way she looked at me,
Made me feel like she understands how to be free.
I should’ve known the story she hides is something that might really hurt me,
Because any story that’s locked up inside should never have a spare key.
In the beginning I tried to make the situation feel sooooo real,
But soon I realized that she had an addiction that was unsealed.
Her wandering eye couldn’t stop her from speaking to many guys,
Im not saying shes some ***** in disguise,
But really she was a free spirit floating around that didn’t know her goodbyes,
Even though she realized that might soon lead to her own demise.
I shouldn’t say guys because in reality its just one that makes me compete,
That look in her eyes was that she once knew what it felt like to be complete.
That one other guy had left her so traumatized that shes never willing to forget,
It was her obsession just like a cigarette.
Everytime she felt angry or terrified there was one person who she knew would help offset,
That one guy who she never wanted to regret,
No matter the endless amount of time that he made her feel upset,
Dreaming in her mind that one day they can recreate that fierce duet.
See the problem was within me, I felt the need to help her realize
That life is always filled with opportunities
If we live in the past and never let go of what we once all had,
We ll stay blind and you would never get to see.
That there is some other guy that’s willing to improvise in order to help you lead,
I got shot down with all of these stories about how she cant commit,
The sad thing is she wont even realize how beautiful she is,
She lets one experience judge her whole life and all she thinks about is what if.
I even learned to like who she is regardless of the lovefilled flaws.
Just because I want to show her that her craziness can be fixed.
She thinks shes always lost her mind, and that her process is so one of a kind,
That no other guy can help her define, who she wants to be.
But I learned how to believe,
Before my insecurities and perfectionism took over my next decision,
But now what I learned is that life not about some kind of demonstration,
Its process that involves many years to learn,
I don’t know why but I really feel the need to have her in my life,
Even though it was causing me concern,
Now you know why I feel so caved in,
I fell for a girl who wont let me win.
The Noose Jan 2014
Violin sonatas of gloom
Acoustics of desire
Play all at once
A peculiar compilation
An elegy of sorts
For yours truly
Welcome to life
Soak up the unrealised potential

Inflamed with rage
To this day
You walk this earth
With a strong conviction
You owe yourself something
You cannot deliver
Extreme self-expectations
Coupled with perfectionism
The fatal modus operandi
You continue adhering to
Goodluck with standing in the way
Of your own happiness

Thrive in your concentrated negativity
While seeking solace in one-liners
Of absolute *******
You maybe a joke
But you are hilarious
Oh, wait.. the joke wore thin
A dozen punchlines ago
You died 12 summers ago
It’s whatever

One day bitter and wilted
As you sit in a cold impersonal office
You will dream about the ocean
And mourn wasted youth
Today will be yesterday
Today is ruined
Tomorrow is dead.
Just for clarification I am ******* enthusiast.
The Noose Jan 2014
A ******* enthusiast
Whose pessimism is intrinsic
And not fashioned
A frequenter the doldrums
With a penchant for exaggeration

A confused Scorpio
Plagued by ghosts of former selves
Meandering along a thorny path
Under darkened infinite skies
Waiting for the severed backbone
I Possess trailing behind
To latch on
And offer restoration and purpose

An eternal student
A slave to academia
With an insatiable hunger for knowledge
In the field of economics
Governed by perfectionism
That will be my demise

A feminist
A riot grrrl
With an acute  fascination with morbidity
A worshipper of rock music
And Professional headbanger

An enlightened inner-directed soul
An awakened dreamer
Gouging out
The remaining fragments of delusion
From the eyes
Embracing realism

A sufferer
Aspiring to be human.
Talia Rose Feb 2016
In a society, image is everything. You are judged from the people you hang out with, the things you do, the clothes you wear.  People shout out that the boy sitting in the corner of gym class is too fat or whisper about how that girl down the hall is far too skinny.  The head of the dance team is told she has one too many curves and should not be “poppin’ and lockin’” with so much confidence, yet the cheerleader is criticized for her petite stature and flat chest.  The boy with the glasses?  He gets bullied daily for his lack of social activity, meanwhile the football **** is faking his confidence and putting on a persona simply to hold up his high school reputation.

Children grow up with the assurance that beauty is on the inside, and that what is on the outside doesn’t matter, yet this statement has proven itself to be false time and time again.  These children were lied to.  You were lied to.  I was lied to. The world is cruel.  It is judgmental and ignorant.  People are turned down their dream jobs over the most miniscule stupidities, such as the fact that they have a tattoo on their arm or because their hair is purple.  You are judged at every corner of your journey, and your world will always revolve around the physicality of how you look.  

No matter how many people believe that appearance is of little importance, there is always a whole world behind them willing to prove them wrong.  But that doesn’t mean we cannot dream.  Dream.  That’s all it is.  That promise that who you are on the inside is enough? It’s all a dreamful desire to look past the image your body presents.  And if dreaming is the only hope we have at being seen as our true self, than you better believe I’m going to keep on dreaming.

Because of the picture society has set out for me, I’ve constantly looked in the mirror seeing nothing but a disappointment.  Every day I find a new flaw, and every day, I realize I am even further from perfection.  But if I can dream that who I am on the inside is enough, than maybe I can become one of the first perfect imperfections out there.

You see, I have never wanted to be perfect, nor do I want to now.  Quite honestly, I don’t believe that perfection exists.  It is a myth.  And yet, everyone seems to be reaching to the stars, going out of their way to attain even the smallest ounce of this so called perfectionism.  Whatever you are reaching for, stop.  Stop and hear me out.  

Beauty is neither from within nor without.  Right is neither in this way nor in that way.  And perfection is neither in your world or mine.  Because we are one in the same.  And the only way to be what our society is calling perfect is to be as imperfect as possible.  Be yourself, because no matter what you do, I can promise you that you will be judged. With every step you take, expect a shadow to crawl up behind you and tell you are doing it wrong.  Expect to be an outcast and to not fit in “perfectly.” Expect to be criticized and ridiculed, because it will happen anyways.  Why are you going to strive to be perfect and risk losing yourself, when you can simply embrace each and every flaw to create the most beautiful imperfection possible?  Don’t live to please others.  Don’t strive to be perfect when perfection is nonexistent.  Embrace what your mamma gave you and rock each imperfection like it is no one else’s business. Because in the end, this is your dream, and being the captain of your own voyage is the only way to make it worth it.  It is the only way to become perfectly imperfect.
St. Teresa swoons to herself.
The angel’s impish face laughs
At her pain.
Bernini’s operatic sculpture bound
Behind bars.
Perfectionism, restorationism,
OCD.
Outside, a gypsy woman begs
For centimes.
Inside, scaffolding dims Teresa’s glow.
Art sacrificed to the future,
Content to die in darkness.
A monk dozes in his rosary.
Recitation of dreams.
No legend in the sacristy:
Teresa’s book remains
Unread, dull behind glass.
Ecstasy of love: her path toward God.
"Ecstasy of St. Teresa" is Bernini's great sculpture of the Catholic mystic swooning as an angel pierces her heart with arrows of love. It is in the Santa Maria della Vittoria Church in Rome. I made a special pilgrimage to see the splendid work, but found it behind scaffolding, virtually impossible to make out any of the parts. A big disappointment for me. But it produced a poem.
Zulu Samperfas Jun 2013
"She is such an excellent student in English,
and I'd ask her teachers why her grades were low
and they'd say she wouldn't turn anything in.  And
it was true, she'd say this isn't ready yet, it's not perfect."
Perfectionism.  That's it.  I don't have it, God knows
but after 500 years of therapy I can look any psychological ailment
in the face...now she's dropped out of college and
he is not happy, my former boss,
"she says it's a 'gap' year" like the British Royal Family takes after
prep school, to be sent to rope cows in the British Empire,
Be an Australian cowboy and post to the trot like a proper Englishman
He's right, it's not a gap year.  
He speaks so quietly, he has judged me so harshly
pathologized me, behaved as if he is perfect and I am nothing
this is quite a large crack in the perfect facade
and I'm still here wondering
so I do what the courageous do and I google perfectionism and
before long I gather details of a childhood spent trying to have accomplishments
so your parents will notice you, a childhood where your feelings aren't important
an emotionally impovershed childhood lacking mirroring, positive mirroring because
the parents were to wrapped up in other things or they didn't really care and suddenly
I understand why this boss of mine would dig into my very soul
because he is so much like my parents
and yet, so afraid, because if I can google this,
then so can he, so why doesn't he when he's the one
with the degree in psychology, so why am I the one
trying to figure out his daughter's problems
and I know the answer
I want to solve mine
Is it the Jew in me?  That kind of willingness to look into that vast
horrid place of self hatred and take a flashlight even and look
at the ****** mess of a psyche and try to attend to the wounds
to heal, the be willing to walk in, squishy entrails cut off
and ****** under my feet, to try to sew them back together
to get the whole system working again.
I want to e-mail her the articles I read about her
I want to heal her, I want him to read this and know
that he is known and he was not such a good father
and she needs help
but no.  it is only me I hope to understand
as I realize I am in the cave, the immensity of my own psyche
trying to understand it, fix it, yet again
Poetry is the altruistic apogee of the individualistic emotional egoist.

The lack of feeling, and the lack of empathy,
the petty attempt to hide them with creativity.

It’s truly astonishing how we can fool ourselves into thinking we’re kind
When we’re just wasting our time, pretending to see when we’re blind.

How could we ever emulate our chemical imbalances on one another?
The only way to do it is the kindly overrated feeling of love and affection.
And why would we need words, if we’re sure about our love for each other?
Oh, we’re puzzled to believe that our puny poetry represents felt perfection.

Yet we just walk through the valleys of lyricism,
Lost in our own wishes for joy or demise
And yet we become shadows of perfectionism
Filled with the detachment we criticize.

Our representation is our perdition
We've lost ourselves in our own mission.
Not particularly proud of the fourth quatrain.
Ditte Jakobsen Mar 2019
Perfectionism
a disease
it eats me up
and makes me bleed
internally my mind is on repeat
"notgoodenoughnotgoodenoughnotgoodenough"
from top to toe to inside my soul
my body aches, I want
to scream, cause
it eats me up
Perfectionism
Eleanor Sinclair Feb 2019
Of all the art in the world
Nothing compared to you
I sold my soul looking for the paints you used
Yet in the end it was just as well
I was nothing but charcoal whereas you were pastel
kierra Jul 2017
you continue on the outermost experience of stimuli
consuming with poor digestion, your surrounding world
you continue on the premise of emotion and nothing more,
no analysis, no insight, you exist as a simpler species than
those who do analyze, are insightful and it is only negative because
you are inefficient and infectious in your inefficiency, less energy is
required to live as you do but you are not progressive, you do not offer
this human species anything but a vector for dna, an avenue to perpetuate;
and you are this way by choice -- you possess potential to have potential
but you do not engage and in consequence, you are ignorant and malignant
to our human species and perhaps I am a misanthrope or perhaps I am a
realist but you will only hinder the most capable of us unless you cease to
continue on the outermost experience of stimuli; you are inefficient with the
potential, a resounding potential, for efficiency and if only you would wake from
this superficial condition our species would gain advantage in survival but I
suppose it is irrational to wish for such things, as we are inherently flawed and

perhaps our concentrations should not be on perpetuating the human species
but rather giving rise to an organism more evolutionarily advanced -- more efficient;
more perfect.
Philosophy on present day societal norm of functioning without thought.
Enyo Dec 2017
You'd think that
Since the load of stress breaks my
Back with its weight,
That being able to relax would allow me to heal.
But I am lost without the routine of school, as much as I loathe it.
Depression is funny like that.

You'd think that
I would be able to swim back up
From the violent ocean of thoughts
I assume other people have about me,
But I'm drowning myself, weighing myself down with my own criticism.
Depression is funny like that.

You'd think that having all the free time in the world
To improve my various skills would be A blessing of opportunity,
But perfectionism and laziness grip my Shoulders, breathe into my mind,
"It won't be good enough anyway."
Depression is funny like that.

You'd think that
Without anything bad happening,
The contemplation of suicide wouldn't still be smoldering in the back of my mind.
But for some reason I'm blowing on the embers, and coaxing out a blaze...

Depression is funny like that.
Whew, I haven't written in a while! This is more of a vent, and some of the things I'm dealing with during this winter break.
Nicole Fox Jul 2013
I stepped in the shower today and
Let the hot water burn my body
As it trickled down my newly tanned skin.
I closed my eyes and let it
Wash my mascara away.
I thought about now
How wonderful, and peaceful,
And easy things are.
I thought about summer..
You're spinning me around in the water and
Softly kissing my neck;
We sit around blazing orange fires
And congratulate each other on the perfectionism
Of our s'mores.
But soon, September will come
A tidal wave of schoolwork,
Two and a half hours of driving,
And late-night Skype calls,
Are heading our way.
Jealousy and questioning
Are almost guaranteed to become abundant.
It won't be easy,
And I can't promise anything
Besides;
I'll try my best
For you
haven't posted in awhile
ethyreal Aug 2013
We’ve set sail and
Our heads have been in the clouds
For the past six months.

I took you to other worlds
You took me to
The real world,
Not flushed out of
Perspective from
A skinny blonde
With a pocket of
Perfectionism and
Middle class ignorance.

You’ve never looked down
Your nose at me,
Even when we kiss
You close your eyes
And breathe me in fully.

Rejects with big dreams
And big hearts
And a big hatred for the world.

And you said you couldn't ever love
But you hold me so close when
You’re dreaming in the early hours of the night.
Mateuš Conrad Aug 2018
. i'm not an alcoholic, i'm an intermediating construct of blues... i think more about blank canvas i am to fill, than the next drink 'm about to have....

why give a dog's *******'s care
concerning yourself with
whst other other,
proper, "sober", sensible people
make of your?

  i guess an inhibition of
a lost verse...

       in poetry we call that a quais
take on a paragraph...

   something akin to:
the same worth of the worth of
something worth losing...
get the drift?!

  Clive Owen...
Denzel Washington,
Brian Molko...

now?
breed me, a ******* hybrid Q
your nag hammadi perfectionism!
you trans-gender
eucharist!

   breed me an example
to my specification!
breed it!
show me the Frankenstein!
breed it!

       i want wolf ***** "ingested"
in women subjects!
i, WANT, THEM!
               you want the Frankenstein
monster?
first you need the mad doctor...
you have me...
cuffed and teasing!

     i am,. dying to waake from
what is death, and what is death assured,
in the fork form of, shadow...

   you, want, the monster...
i am giving your the antithesis
of the nameless
caricature of
what man's capability!

            i need it, whatever "it", is...
       i will not sleep till this "thing"
is awake in the womb
of my cognition...
and i know of its wake!

                 it's funeral a birth,
it's birth,
banshee screech!
                 the failed Polish
winged hussar charge against
the Ukranian Cossack upriing,
thick, in, mud...

                        i have the desires
to damage marking
banknotes...
      Shelley will always outlast
the credibility of Austen...

    Mary contra Jane...

       horror...
Frankenstein monsters...
vampires...
     werewolves...
she's the third of the canon!

  you don't do that!
you can't do that!
                but you did, do that!

there is a shadow of man,
he dares to call history
to contra the visage for the excuses
of journalism...

     not here... not now...

  as a young boy,
i dreamed of mingling the ***** of
wolves, being impregnated
in human females...
        i guess, as a treat...
to alleviate
the existing product
                 of down syndrome'

what?
what is science?
if not the reinvigorated
perpetuation of
trans-categorical inquiry?

p.s. when i drink?
the last "thing" on my mind
is the activity of drinking,
notably, for socially unhinged
barriers to be broken...
i'm an anti-social drinker...
i hate conversation,
esp. when drinking...
a ******* desert,
when it comes to
             the calorie intake!
Racquel Tio Jun 2016
I wear extensions on my head and get them glued to every last eyelash.
I wear makeup as a mask that i apply with perfectionism and wasted time.
and I wear what you'll like on my body
because there is a lot of me missing that I need to compensate for.
RisingUp Nov 2015
Today I was told.

I don't know who I am.

An absurd remark?

Perhaps.

Or a sad realization.

A slave to the grades.

"Do that for your resumé!"

Try harder, you must be the best.

Perfect, perfect.

From school to work to food consumption,

the slave driver in my head allows no interruption.

And what has this created?  What is this Frankenstein?

A girl involved in so much, yet without her own mind.

What are her passions?  What gives her real joy?

What's hidden behind that achievement ploy?

For now, there's no answer.

She's perfectionism's fine dancer.

Yet with some searching and fun,

The puppet show may finally be done.
steven Sep 2014
Perfectionism is deadly when it's believable:
A plant with infinite roots in my brain
As if my entire existence sprouted from that
Seed so evil that my very veins
Pump pride and pretensions through me
Pulsing, rising, filling me to the brim
With false dreams and glimmering hope
That feel hellishly hollow within.
Cyan Tendency Jan 2013
Dwelling is a razor
regret, drip-fed poison
guilt, a creaking chain as it tightens around my neck.

Stockholm syndrome has me
in that
        lovelifedeath
grip.

And as my own jailer
I rail against myself
Caught in a purgatory-
safe
drawing blood
then consoling.                                

I can't see........
My corneas tear in the wind
there's some metaphysical connection, I know it
I don't want to look at my life as it is
The guilt twists my guts
I'm pathetic in my failures
and grasping at a fading light.

Ah perfectionism,  my abusive lover;
you endow me such power, then beat me senseless
I'm goddess, then mortal-
panicking
      frail
with nowhere but elusive horizons to go.

Phosphenes
those  bright spots of colour
as I rub my eyes-
Once again I wake too early
and that too-familiar cyanide starts to leak through my veins
and anxiety grips me
How'll I ever get it right
             make it out
             fix it all
             come out from under
             breathesucceedrelaxenjoybeworthsomething
  in short

has my bright patch of colour had its day?

I can't
face it.

— The End —