It yells at me
Never lets me free.
What does it mean to be any of this?
This little piece of me;
This thought that the world should be
But that doesn’t actually happen, not when we were born to be imperfect.
Is it really fair to claim perfection as
With sun-kissed cheeks?
Perfection is everything
Perfection is being
Patient but feisty, able to speak your own mind
Not an in your face smart but to know everything
To be perfectly gorgeous but not fake looking
To be happy but to feel pain
The ability to be stoic but to be full of emotions
Are these contradictions perfection?
Is it fair that we
Demand this of every being on this earth
We all must be unique and our own person, but we all with to be that perfect person.
But if we were to all be perfect we are to be the same.
And by being the same are we all suddenly unperfect?
It doesn’t quite matter though because
No matter how
Unperfect being perfect really is.
Because being perfect is
Messing up at just the right time
Knowing when to speak at the perfectly right but just so wrong time
Being able to be excellent but not overly excellent
Being absolutely perfect
But being the worst person ever at the same time.
But if this makes me human
Makes you human
Makes her human
Makes him human
Then so be it.
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