perfection

Perfection in Nature

My mind tells me that nothing is perfect in nature,


While I look at the sky like a keen observer,


I cannot but ponder over the matter again,


How can the sky be so perfect then?


 

The rain lets me think of perfection also,


Chiefly when the painting in the air called rainbow,


Does emerge flawlessly,


Like a beautiful Greek deity!


 

Is the sun not spotless?

 

Is the moon not matchless?

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She swore it would never get this bad.

Upon first glance, she was one of those girls who you assumed was  all put together:

Wavy hair, smiling eyes, makeup done, maybe even wearing a nice dress.

 

But that’s upon first glance.

And things aren't always what they seem.

 

For she was also one of those girls who made sure that her weight  was as low as her self-esteem.

She became someone, something, she never believed she could.

She smiled for the family portrait, and then locked herself in the bathroom, and ran the bathtub water to hide the noise.

 

She found control in the numbers, the calories, the pounds: the lower the better.

But still, she was one of those girls who you saw in the halls and thought was fine.

 

She got “better” for a little while. The number on the scale got higher than her self-esteem.

She’d like to tell you things have changed. But that would be lying. And she doesn’t lie anymore.

Now she’s seeking control in the conflict that fills her soul. No one tells her she’s fat. She isn’t. No, she’s not even close. She just feels that way. She fears that the peering eyes see her how she sees herself. So she starts counting again. Comfort in the numbers. There’s always comfort in the numbers.

 

Websites she swore to never visit again somehow find themselves illuminated on her laptop screen,

their light piercing through the darkness at midnight.

“Don’t let your thighs touch,” and “Pretty girls don’t eat,” the pictures whisper.

 

She’s one of those girls whose parents think the world of her. Whose siblings admire her. She’s also one of those girls who, when asked, “What’s wrong?”, just smiles.

 

She lost some friends because of this. But I didn’t leave. She told me everything. I got her help. She hated me. But she's alive.

 

For that’s the thing about people: We’re all fighting a battle inside.

Some people fight back. Others let it win.

And others need someone to lean on

until the battles lost

and won.

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Pretty Hurts

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Magazines and T.V. screens

show these girls all day

Pretty little creatures,

who show what we should say.

Who smile in front of the camera

but cry behind closed doors,

forcing themselves into delusion,

Until they can't find "them" anymore...

We raise them to believe only beauty

will determine their worth.

And to try and maintain a facisimile of perfection

Because the world will only see the very worst.

We make them parade around

pretending to be little airheads

"What's in your head doesn't matter,"

we teach our girls to be brain dead

We teach them they need to be thinner

to throw up who they want to be,

No personality is what matters,

Bimbos are what we think are "pretty."

We tell them they have to fix themselves

but you can't fix what is with in.

You must keep down the sadness you feel,

to show an opinion is basically a sin.

You could enter a paegant,

and come on top the winner,

and they'll still find something to pick up

"You could always be thinner."

We cause these girls to lose themselves,

telling them they cant be happy.

We tell them they need to add more makeup

thats the only way to be pretty.

Press on nails, and fake eyelashes,

erasing who they were with determination.

Telling girls they'll soon be perfect, but...

"Perfection is the disease of a nation

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Inspirsed by Beyonce's Song... Link on bottom

Pretty Hurts:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LXXQLa-5n5w

 

Anything in parenthesis is a lyrics from her song.

No copy right infringement here folks :D

The Best Person I Know

There's no perfection in a place called Earth

Each day we dive into uncertainty

That's ain't no curse or burden though

That's precious spark - absurdity.

 

There's no perfection in people's hearts

Each day we suffer from avidity

That's ain't no good but it imparts

It gives conception of infinity.

 

The best person I've ever knew

Is the person I've never met

Ain't no there best or noblest

 

Ain't want I to be so...

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The Melancholy of a Bodyguard

1

When she walks into a room, all is silent.

Poised with aplomb, no one is ever violent.

Classy is her adept style, she’s set to rule.

Be I her earth, always her eternal tool.

 

Her aspects of a princess, looks smooth like water.

Her words are true, known to have stopped a slaughter.

Clothed in pleasing robes of silk, she has it all.

Eternal bliss, an angel sent from heaven’s hall.

 

Her red lips arouse firm lust, my mouth turns dry.

Her wise bright eyes, shining like a fair blue sky.

Like a time lord’s solitude, her mind wanders.

Embracing fate, her clipped wings...she needless ponders.

 

Gentle are her chosen words, finer than mine.

Drunk when she laughs, her grin tastes like a cool wine.

She’s the saviour of many, none oppose her.

Contrast us both, I am but a lowly cur.

 

Be still my heart, if only for a second.

So I can ponder my fate, my soul I reckon.

Damned I shall be, for the feelings I hold dear.

LEAVE FLEE DEPART! For now you must disappear...

 

Feelings of love, sorrow, joy, they have no place.

The devil toys, with feelings that cannot erase.

If God were to rub me clean, I’d be left scarred.

To be her guard...

Is my love truly this barred?

 

Forever am I bound, by law, by curse?

Bulk my bias, would just make her vigour worse.

She is breath to all who gaze, I am her foil.

Nevertheless, I love and therefore must toil.

 

Thus, this princess I do love, my heart doth beat!

Stout misery, her scent is pang bittersweet.

When I look into those eyes, it pains me so.

She is my life, and that is all I know.

She is perfect, sadly, that is my woe...

Author's Notes/Comments: 

A poem of the internal turmoil which arises from one living a life of servitude.

PERFECTION

If I was to listen to my TV, I might be obsessed with perfection

I might want a beautiful body or a silky smooth complexion.

 

I might lust for two enormous houses on a mountain top and shore

Each decorated by the finest designers in luxurious decors.

 

I’d want my pools to go on forever with waterfalls and a great views

With spas and underwater lights, and outdoor kitchens too

 

I’d drive a red Ferrari or any car that would astound

Wait, who needs a Ferrari, my chauffeur can drive me around.

 

I’d most likely be a famous athlete or perhaps a movie star

I might own an island in the Pacific and smoke Cuban cigars...

 

But when I look in the mirror if I take the time to pause

At my body and complexion...it seems I have some flaws.

 

My body, although adequate, seems to droop in the wrong place

And God knows what those spots are that have appeared upon my face.

 

The house Deborah and I inhabit is quite small, not to complain

But the laundry room’s unfinished and the street floods in the rain.

 

Deborah and I both drive Honda’s and although Honda’s never corrode

In our least expensive Hondas you can’t help but feel the road.

 

The money we make being teachers by the end of summer fades

Because teachers, believe it or not, during summers don’t get paid.

 

Then yesterday our family came for a visit (Bryan we Skyped on the phone)

And I have to smile when I stop and think how splendid my life has grown.

 

You see I’ve realized something about perfection as I have gotten older

Perfection, like beauty, it seems to me lies in the eye of the beholder.

 

As we sat together--on the walls of our house laughter was adorning

Now the kids are gone yet I still hear their laughter echoing this morning.

 

Deborah and I have each other and our children have happiness and health

From my perspective this morning I have to marvel at my wealth.

 

On television my life might not seem perfect...but I have to admit

 

In the real world I have a perfect life..at least from where I sit.

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truth conquers all

 

 

 

.................

 

days and nights meld into one,

the sun an moon spar for my attention,

9,10,11,12, they begin to merge and look the same,

life becomes deranged, monotonous,strange,

yet all needs miraculously see their place,

no race for me, a gentle hand guides my pace,

still time to smell the cool breezes that visit,

still joy that fills my heart with each smile so freely given,

a baby's breath upon my shoulder,

watching as all of life becomes one day older,

younger in newly inspired tones,

melodious sounds, like music roams

every cranny of space in my soul, 

rhythmic tides that flow in and out, 

like the bubbling caps of ocean foam,

encumbrances placed in my path 

become small, and me,

I become tall, 

and just have to smile inside at the fact

i have the strength to face it all.

 

 

3:26 PM 7/10/2013 ©

"Vincit omnia veritas"

..........................

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This poem was inspired thinking about how when we live our truth, obstacles in our path may not dissapper, but they sure do get a whole lot smaller somehow.

Climbing Inside Perfection

Falling whispers float like butterflies across cherished skin,
Curtains raise and fall in smooth, fluid motion.
In that moment I know you're still breathing my name,
Across oceans draped in stars,
Sky pours crescent sunsets into the Earth's horizon.

A shudder misplaced as the breeze,
Unknown spider fingerprints delicately sweeping across my naked skin,
Through the candlelit window a ghost nurses me to sleep,
A parallel distortion of one who feels dead inside.

A victim timid and shy,
Unaware of the sharpness of his fangs.
Laying naked upon the bed sheets,
Giving his body to the ghosts and the stars,
Turning butterfly wings into black rose petals,
Climbing inside perfection.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I hate trying to come up with tags.

Perfection

Perfection doesn't always last.
We may wish it did,
but that's not how life works.
It's like a wick burning outside.
So luminescent,
so pure.
As life goes on,
the winds pick up,
unexpected changes occur.
Might go out,
might not.
Just Depends how strong it is.