Perfection.

I was called perfect for the first time in my existence. What a word…perfect. It was sincere. An old man with two kids and a wife. No intentions. He saw perfection. What a moment it was for me. My eyes became misty. No one has ever said this to me.

He said, “if I was twenty five, you would be the perfect girl but not in a creepy way.”

Fragile like a piece of class. Shattering at any given moment. Piece crash all over the floor. The glass lays there cracked yet still sharp has a blade. Angry at its state yet to weak to fight back. To defeated to hurt anyone with its sharp blade. To broken to do anything. Bystanders pass by the shatter glass. No one bothers to pick up the pieces. No one bothers to drag you to the side. Some just gauck at you. Some walk around you others walk over you. Some see their reflection on your broken pieces. Some are to scared of throwing you away because they might get pricked by your sharp ends. They don’t realize how much they have hurt you nor do they care. Yet, there is one willing to get pricked by your sharp blades. Lays there with you even if it gets stepped on too. Is this true love? C’est la amor?

Insecurities

Standing in a room with beautiful people. Beautiful in so many different ways. You wonder..am I good enough to be here? Can I even handle this? I don’t think I am cut out for it. I wear a cow shirt that reflects my inner self. I feel like a cow. Moo.

Will I ever heal? Heal from my self inflicted mental pain.

Failure should be my name.

Am I destined to keep failing?

When will I get it right?

Perfect…what a dream

C’est la vie

Love,

Frshta

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s