Perfectionism in a world that’s imperfect
Is what I strive for, but I cannot expect
The path to be easy, for nothing seems to rise
Up to my standards- I wonder if it is wise
To be inflexible, desire results impeccable
When real life is messy, chaotic, unpredictable
I often wonder if I should adopt a lenient attitude
Ignore minor infractions, descend from my perch of rectitude
But then, that pesky voice inside stops me
If I did not aim for perfection, where would I be?
Professionally, perfectionism is expected of me
Maybe in other spheres, less of a perfectionist I can be..
I think that is why my heart I pour
Into verses imperfect, therein lies the allure
Of playing with words without trying to create
A perfect poem- my verses reflect my imperfect, flawed state…