Obsessively Trapped in my Imperfectness

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: July 26, 2018

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Submitted: July 26, 2018

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Wake up, right on time

Alarm is blaring the dog is whining.

Get up

Get dressed

Do hair

Every day the same routine.

 

But wait!

 

That hair is in the wrong place

There is a wrinkle in that shirt

Those pants just don’t fit right.

Never mind, it’s time to go

Can’t waste another minute.

 

Wait!

Then there is that voice again.

 

It tells me every day just what is wrong with me

It points out the wrinkle in that shirt

And turns it into the tidal wave of self-hate and deprecation

Some days that voice is small

Like a fly buzzing in my ear

Other days I am the prisoner in a coliseum

And it is the lion ready to prey on my flesh.

 

Wait!

Others have it worse than you.

 

Chaos, messy, disorganized.

The way I may describe a room

Everything out of place, nothing seems to fit

Much the like in the caverns of my mind

 

Wait!

Everything has its place.

 

“You are so obsessed”

“Does this mess drive you crazy?”

Just words of jovial joking.

But to me they are the sword that stabs me,

Each jab and joke pushes it one inch deeper.

I am the stone and their words, the sword.

 

But unlike in King Arthur,

I am the stone that holds no great weapon of prophecy

Only the weapon of my own self destruction

Counting down the days until the hilt of hate

Finally cracks and breaks me.

 

Wait!

Get yourself together!

 

You are pretty in your own way,

You have your qualities that are special.

His words that try to lighten the blow,

Only make the bullet hole into a gaping wound.

The bleeding and heart ache

The once recurring visitors have now finally bought a home.

 

Wait!

Things will get better!

 

No, because in my mind I am,

The suburbs of suffering,

The five star hotel of self-hate,

The condo of cover ups,

The mansion of masks,

The trailer park of tear stained cheeks.

 

Wait!

Stop being so dramatic!

 

Wake up, right on time

Alarm is blaring, dog is whining.

Get up,

Get dressed,

Do hair.

Wait!

 

What mask of “perfection” do I wear today?

 


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