ImPerfect

Please don't complete me.      
You can't perfect me.
You want to judge me             
On all that you see?
But I'm just a fabrication         
Born of another creation.
Who invented me?            
Oh, you invented me.
And now I'm venting.

I'm so tired of trying   
To meet,   
These criteria,   
Are fallacies.
It's all been going on     
For far too long
And I'm angry             
At the waste.
It's left a bitter taste.

I'd rather be alone       
And truly unhappy     
Than fetishise
A piece    
Of myself I hate
In the mirror     
Of someone
I'm pretending to love.

Yes. Imperfect.         
You want apology?
Here's an apostrophe.       
Just a flick of the wrist and
I'm perfect.

I've got boils      
Under clean cotton,
I've got words       
I'll never speak.
I've got dark,        
Greedy habits
At midnight,         
Then I'll flay myself        
At noon.

I've got thoughts           
I'll never share.
Because I'd rather be alone,          
Honestly unhappy
Than connected,           
To a story that's not mine.
I'd rather be interested          
In my hurting than
Bored in my discontent,            
I'd rather be really anxious
Than simply calmly numb.

Yes.

Everything's imperfect.

You want apology?

I'll give you an apostrophe.

Flick of the wrist and

I'm perfect.