It Was a Lie Every Time They Said Perfect

It was a lie every time they said perfect.

I have been to four continents and never glimpsed perfection's likeness.

A million more photographs and glances in the mirror only lead to disappointment.

Darkness is the absence of light.

Imperfection is the absence of perfection.

It was a lie every time they said perfect.

Geniuses and royalty, dictators and socialites are not exempt.

They too find themselves underground or in incinerators at their endings.

What did your uniqueness earn you?

Nothing in death, for a millionaire and a welfare queen both expire.

It was a lie every time they said perfect.

I could die today, tomorrow, or in a century.

And my importance in life and therefore departure would be great to only a handful.

Do not color me bitter over the imperfection in which I have mucked for I belong among the ranks of misfits.

We are all a little broken when born, and spend the rest of our lives trying not to exacerbate our flaws.

It was a lie every time they said perfect.

We use flawed machines and uncertain procedures and incomplete people to attempt and fix those breaks.

Surgery to improve what we see in the mirror, and masks to wear when all else fails.

Breaks cannot shrink, and in desperation to limit their growth, we keep our heads down and live in a constant state of terror.

We are so scared to address what is wrong and show it to another that we are born and expire without ever actually being seen.

It was a lie every time they said perfect.

It was a lie but the truth is not so disgusting as a social disease should be constructed for it.

Perfection does not exist, for there is no lacking of imperfection.

We can switch off lights to bring about blackness, but the same does not apply to our little birth-given breaks.

Let others put band aids on the cracks and kiss them better, and at death, if you have not shattered, you have not lived.

It was a lie every time they said perfect.

Lies feed my breaks, so I will accept my imperfections.