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

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