Perfection is a work of fiction,

It will never happen,

It never can.

In all of us,

We wish it were so.

To have no flaws,

No pain or woe.

We wish our tears were never once shed,

As if they were a weakness.

Our teeth must be straight,

Our faces must clear,

Our eyes must read the bottom line…backwards.

We must be this height, this weight,

Error is not an option, never speak of "failure".

When we strive to fly,

Using only the rules to guide us,

We become so heavy with our own specifications,

Laid out by ourselves and even our closest companions,

Without even our own realization,

That we fall,

Smashing to the pavement.

Then the world asks why we could not reach,

Could not reach the skies.

I would look the world in the mind's eye and tell them,

"I listened to you and I denied myself.

I took your word and not my own.

And in striving to follow the rules, the guidelines,

The unwritten laws,

The expectations,

The facts and the false,

I had forgotten one thing."

And the world would halt in utter suspense for my answer,

But I would never break the world's heart.

I would never say to them,

"That which makes me human."