We grew up being perfect

Perfection, expected, and it dulled us

So we were perfect-

Not out of any desire to be,

But because being any less meant that we were failures.

If we were less than perfect, we had failed

We were doing something wrong

If we were perfect, we were average

We received no congratulations, no incentives

Only acceptance, because it meant nothing to be us

We were to be the best…

That was not the goal, that was the minimum

So we went to a school where perfection meant


Perfection was impossible

And through our first true struggles

We emerged excellent, straight A's

But it was no achievement

It was expected

And in a time which it became impossible to be perfect,

A goal narrow and out of reach,

All I can be is not good enough.

[not really looking for critique on this one, more written through a dark time, but feel free]