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PerfectPerfect What does it mean to be perfect? And why are we so Obsessed with Obtaining it Pursuing it Projecting it Perceiving it? To chase a thing Means that you reinforce It's absence. Yet… Can we be perfectly ourselves And just be happy with it? Can we be happy with the journey And not confuse it with the destination? Can we see perfection in the process, And not kill the spirit Of the poet that lives inside us? You know the one Afraid to write down the first word Or the first line Because it's considered cr@p By others. And so their judgment becomes Our own. Or worse yet Our egos protect us And they end up doing More damage than good. One way or another Either from within Or without Someone is tearing us Or our poetry Apart. For sometimes we confuse Criticisms for Encouragement Flattery for Praise Editing for Building up And Tearing down for Advice But seen as being perfectly In our process Of becoming All is made whole All is made good And every mistake Becomes the forger's tool Every lesson The Fire to strengthen Our metal We become works Of art And life. For we are perfect. Perfectly human. Perfectly ourselves. Poetry Ad-Free Upgrades Vote for this poem
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