The Little Sonnet
She is perfect; slim, beautiful, and more.
She’s not perfect; large, ugly, even less.
She is perfect; rude but never a bore.
She’s not perfect; depressed; nothing I guess.
Imperfection is never accepted.
It belongs in the dark, where she will stay.
Standards; the inevitable death beads.
From perfection, she is driven astray.
Now she is all alone, with nothing left.
Into society she cannot go.
Perfection has committed a great theft.
Imperfections sent to the great chateau.
Back in the water, never truly seen.
Perfection is not worth this tragic scene.
This poem is about:
Our world