Two syllables. Seven letters.

Two syllables. Seven letters. A small word in the vast English language That causes agony, resentment, hostility, and sorrow. Why do we include such a destructive word is our vocabulary? We strive for this whether it be then or now, here or there, for you or for me. We define the meaning with our motions and thoughts. No law, rule or decree can stop this from happening. An inevitable fact of life. We let this word crawl beneath our flesh, Obliterate the trust we have in ourselves, Crumble our aspirations, And shred the love that was built to protect us from this evil. This demon. Where it feeds on our weaknesses. That one word can destroy our entire being. Why do we push to attain this ideal state of being, That no two random people will agree is where you want to be? We cannot compare us to that of other. Unique; Whatever happened to this quality? What has society morphed this into? Why does it turn us into something we should not? Faultless. Ideal. Incomparable. People can never be these. They are an irrational state of being. Why did we ever believe that creating a flawless façade Was more vital than the person living within our own skin? We should not let others define what it is and what not. Everyone has something, someone and something that they’d rather be. Getting there is a different path for the young, the wise, the nimble, the powerful, the petite and the obese. We each shoot for the moon, but we know most will never fully arrive, But they’ll end up among the stars and they'll be happy just where they are. Who are we to say they’re not? Whether it be you, him, her, them or me, We each share a quality; difference. No matter what others say, we can always be defined as different. Only you should decide for you What that two syllable, seven letter word means to you. Only then will you ever be Perfect.

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