Perfection
I never wish for perfection
Only that my mistakes seem small enough to fold into themselves
If I can hold them in my palm
Then I can trap them in a fist
But I see myself, I know who I am,
I hear the clock ticking in my eardrum.
Keeping track of seconds, of steps, of time
Do I wait
Hesitate, let my body seize up
The mistakes wear me as I stand still,
Pending
I swear, I never wish to be perfect
But how can I be satisfied when my flaws are all so clear?
