Perfection

Perfection, an idea fixated in the mind
childlike, morbid, self-consuming
I want to be someone else
I want to be happy, carefree
I want to feel self-worth, want to show who I am
Don’t judge me; don’t make me a parody
of the one thing I want but can’t have
All is vanity, I should be proud
but I’m not, and who is
No one cares, so why should I?
I don’t need mirrors, eyes are enough
They burn, sting, they see right through
They know who I am and what I’m not
They know what I want
I write, I read, I do what I can
But the impressions are no longer enough
They hold no meaning
They don’t care, so why should I?
Tired of stepping to their level
I want to be flawless, a rail
Perfection at its best.