Dear Perfection
Dear Perfection,
I'm tired. I simply have nothing
left to give. An empty plastic
water bottle lying on the side of
the road. Driven over one too many times.
Crushed and crinkled, lying helplessly on the ground.
“I can’t do this anymore”, I whisper to myself.
The pressure to perform perfectly. The perfect daughter,
a perfect Muslim. Call your family everyday,
pray five times a day. You must be a perfect student!
Have perfect attendance, you mustn’t ever have a bad day.
Perfection, every time you come around you make me hate myself.
Perfection, this little dance of ours always leaves me with
sores on my feet and hands. Scars on my heart and mind.
Perfection, you told me that if I controlled the way people
viewed me…I would be happy. But all you’ve left me with
is a memory of everyone I could not fully connect with
because I am overcome by the fear of rejection.
The fear of rejection.
Perfection—is that all you truly are?
The fear that someday someone might see you’re human?
The image of a disappointed display against my father's face.
Perfection you must let me go now!
This dance with you has left me with scars on my heart, scars on my mind.
