People have always told me that I’m perfect. I’m this shiny object that doesn’t have an imperfection in sight. But people don’t know that nobody is perfect, and that even seemingly perfect people have cracks. They don’t see how I cry over my homework for hours, they don’t see all the retakes, and the work. I cover my acne and put my hair in a bun. I hide my failures in the back of my closet, hoping that nobody cares to look for them. Because I’m not perfect, but that’s what people expect from me. So I make the hardest things look easy and try to keep my friends. Nobody wants an imperfect girl. I shove my insecurities in the back of my mind and cover my fear with neat handwriting and extra work. Nobody wants a broken girl. I trade my glasses for contacts and wear big sweaters to cover my heart monitor. Because nobody would want me imperfect, so I make myself perfect just for you. Just so you can call me perfect and be right. But my exterior is cracking and my smile is becoming forced. I laugh through the pain and pretend that your words don’t have an effect. Nobody wants a drama queen. Nobody wants to try hard. Nobody wants a mess. Maybe that’s too bad. Because I didn’t want to be your perfect girl in the first place. I am a mess and crazy and uptight. And I couldn’t give a care in the world if you don’t like that. Because I’m not perfect. And I’m fine with that.
Perfectly Imperfect
People have always told me that I’m perfect. I’m this shiny object that doesn’t have an imperfection in sight. But people don’t know that nobody is perfect, and that even seemingly perfect people have cracks. They don’t see how I cry over my homework for hours, they don’t see all the retakes, and the work. I cover my acne and put my hair in a bun. I hide my failures in the back of my closet, hoping that nobody cares to look for them. Because I’m not perfect, but that’s what people expect from me. So I make the hardest things look easy and try to keep my friends. Nobody wants an imperfect girl. I shove my insecurities in the back of my mind and cover my fear with neat handwriting and extra work. Nobody wants a broken girl. I trade my glasses for contacts and wear big sweaters to cover my heart monitor. Because nobody would want me imperfect, so I make myself perfect just for you. Just so you can call me perfect and be right. But my exterior is cracking and my smile is becoming forced. I laugh through the pain and pretend that your words don’t have an effect. Nobody wants a drama queen. Nobody wants to try hard. Nobody wants a mess. Maybe that’s too bad. Because I didn’t want to be your perfect girl in the first place. I am a mess and crazy and uptight. And I couldn’t give a care in the world if you don’t like that. Because I’m not perfect. And I’m fine with that.
More by Crow
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Labels
When you label someone you put them in a box.
A child has to be innocent, a woman has to be perfect, a man has to be strong. All these labels that we have for everything and anything. -
Mother Knows Best
Mother knows best. That’s what they always say. But what happens when she doesn’t know best, what then. I am left out in the sea whirling as the currents push me this way and that. -
Red
The skin is split and torn and yet I can’t feel a thing. It’s a funny thing when pain is no longer an object of affection. Something that we can always count on being, disappears. The red love drips like molasses down my leg and I watch the flow.
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