Perfection is impossible.
The very idea is drilled into my head,
And yet I still don't hear it.
It seems that everything I do is covered in red marks,
Imaginary red streaks of pen correcting my every mistake.
My standards are so high, and I cannot ever reach them.
"Just lower them," you say as if I have not tried that before.
It's not that easy.
I look at myself like an exam.
A piece of paper with numbers down the side,
Created to wear a number on my forehead.
Everything I do has a grade.
I lie and say that my inadequacies are okay,
That I do not mind them.
I cannot admit that every mistake makes me a failure.
I am not the only one who experiences this.
There are fellow perfectionists, fellow humans seeking something unachievable,
And yet it this path I've forced myself on is so lonely.
A trail with no end and no success.
I'm grabbing at mist, something that isn't real.
Every single mistake, every incorrect choice,
Every wrong word, every wrong turn,
It all invalidates me.
Over and over again,
All I hear and see in myself is "failure."
But I am not a failure.
You are not a failure.
We are all human.
We are not machines.
Let yourself be what you were born to be.
It's okay to fail.
Though I may sound hypocritical,
Telling others to believe what I do not,
I will learn to trust myself.
You are not perfect.
You will make mistakes.
You will fail.
You are valid.
You are human.
You are imperfect.