Perfection is being content in ones own world

Perfection is perceiving the cracks in the wall as a piece of art
Withered autumnal branches
Dreaming of blooms in spring

Perfection sought, to please the world
Leaves one imperfect and discontented
In this, perception oriented perfect world

“I’m sorry”
I whisper.  Over. And over.
A reflex when things are not okay.
Because no matter what I’m always to blame.

It's perfect

He threw compliments at you
until they stung.

He kissed you
until there were violet bruises
blooming across your arms.

The fingers he traced
up and down your back
turned into thorns.

His words morphed into
bombs.

It's perfect.
Until it's not.

what have i become. .
what have you made of me, mother?
what have you sculpted, brother?

carved to perfection,
into an ivory soulless wreck,
a hopeless mess, high off morbidity and agony,

carved to perfection,
to attend to your lavish needs,
of a stripped youth,
hidden under a blood stained carpet floor,

and you do it so lovingly,
as i reach for air,
when you've buried me
six feet under.

Love does not have to
be perfect, it only has
to be shared with you

8:28 PM
9/8/19

Because nobody is expecting you to be perfect today. All anybody wants from you is that you try to be better tomorrow.

I feel light and fluffy,
like a pearl-colored cloud,
or like scrambled eggs
whipped to perfection
with butter and cream.

I feel joy everywhere,
even in the tiny crevices
ugly feelings try
so hard to hide in.

There's a sun inside of me,
always,
but some days it's overcast
and rains for too long.
Today is different, though.

Light and life are one, and
the sky and the earth
divine and bewitching once more.

we are human
we cannot be perfect
but we can always be better