why are we told that we must be perfect?
perfection needs to be carved into every inch of my skin,
as though i am a paper doll whose only job is to sit still
and look my absolute best every minute of the day.
as though i am a carbon-copy ornament, rather
than a divine creation of the cosmos with the
stars glittering in my eyes and tiny galaxies
swirling underneath my skin. as though
i am anything less than a wild and
wicked thunderstorm with a
rhythmic heartbeat.
i must always be conscious of what others think,
even though i couldn't care less about all of
their poisonous opinions. even though all
i want to do is glare and scream until it
sinks in that my story is my own- not
a draft that needs to be edited
over and over and over until
it suits their own needs
and their own image
and their own
selfish little
desires.
when can we stop being perfect and start being ourselves?
➙ perfection is overrated