melissaahowells
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They all said: "We're all in need of improvement. Being human could never be quite enough.
Anyone, they believed, not seeking the enlightenment of perfectionism, was doomed to dwell in a dank, dark bargain basement. He always said, "Look here child, be like me. Charm the bees whenever possible. Become overwhelmingly positive in the personality department. Everyone should like you. Everyone should respect you. Let 'em know who's boss!" Yes, he personified the perpetually competent salesman. He was the alcoholic. Now, she always said " Always look your best and you'll be the best." She made my clothes for me, made certain my toes touched the bath water on a daily basis. She, herself, had cluttered collections of acquaintances and friends, she socialized in herds; worshipped the Greek System in college; hung on the words of our Reverend Minister. She was a queen: Dairy Queen, Homecoming Queen, and most of all-- the Queen of Expectationsville. She suffered from depression all of her life. I was the unwilling vanity project. I wanted to be left to my own imagination. I despised being made to answer and talk over the phone. My ambition was to soak in the massive comforting silence of my room. Perfectionism, I knew, would be the eraser that would make me disappear. I became the bulimic. Copyright 2005 All Rights Are Reserved By the Author Melissa A.Howells/Meloo from her Tilt-a-World This could be life anywhere in the USA. Biographical right down to the very last letter. Written during a writing class I took with B. Vote for this poem |
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