Your Perfection


I've seen it repeated

Over in time.

How can perfection be so flawed?

Grace turned grim,

Though in your prime,

I've assuredly experienced all.


Its presence an everlasting notion,

Never escapes my upper confines.

It's trapped within,

Yet so am I.

Bound together we reside. 


It deforms my consciousness,

Strangling my inner peace,

Slowly coiling tighter.

When can I rest,

When all I can hear

Is your perfection berating my being?


And tighter it gets.

Juicing my joy drier and drier,

Until it's gone.

I can feel it,

As I can't.


But I'm here,

This can't be.

Never happened?


Perfection fares impossible,

So the true perpetrator

Must be me.

I'm free, I feel it, as I can.



Allas, an illusion caught wind.

Such a vision felt right as death

Clings to one's shoulders.

Your perfection a parasite,

Gouges my hope;

Tramples my pathetic benevelonce.


For I've been gone

Since you constricted me,

Hanging on by

Your praise,

Which be rare,

Yet breathes life through my body.

But now,

You've won.

Your standards barely met,

I slink off to die.


This poem is about: 


Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741