Afterthought
I (who am
painfully eager to please,
dependent on it even)
am not perfection.
I (who am
untempted by hormones
even in darkened theatres
under strong peer pressure)
am not perfection.
I (who watch
the best of ourselves lowered
while sobbing
as if we never grew up
seeking the approval of others
to determine our success)
am not perfection.
‘Cause if I (who wish to be perfect,
who lives and breathes to be perfect,
and still in your eyes am not perfect)
then what is perfection?
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