Perfection
It is awaiting,
the prominent perfection I desire,
fingertips tracing insecurities,
media fuelling the fire.
The ideal takes reality,
burrows and distorts the view,
corrupting and twisting,
self deprecating smiles construe.
Along came a broken soul,
who desired the same perfection,
to stare at the ghost in the mirror,
and adore her own reflection.
As one we shall push,
rumbling and pain worth it all,
prevention can’t beat the cure,
or prepare to watch us fall.
Copyright ©
Em Yard | Year Posted 2016
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