Perfectionist Poems - Poems about Perfectionist

Persnickety Perfectionist Parents

She did a whizbang job on her science project
Her teacher was impressed and did a genuflect
Parents pretended she had done it all her way
These perfectionists had done it after sending her out to play

Perfectionist Poet

Please pander to my
Perfectionism by
Pottering your purlesent
Peepers purposely past my
Permanently printed
Phrases of poetic poise

Pulling precious people
Past particular poison 
Pleases.
Pushing perfection points
Purposefully protects from 
Painful perception.

Perhaps a pedantic persuasion?
Perhaps a pen peaking in
Peppery passion or with
Personal poignancy or
Painted pastiche pictures of
Platitude?

Perhaps

Mr Perfectionist

You are the uncompromising truth
You are the fearless lover of the Messenger of Allah
You are perfect, you are the pure believer
You are the sacrificed being to the honored Awliah
You are an indomitable soldier in the realm of true knowledge
You are the only preacher of all truth


But still, you fear those whom you accuse as liars
Yet

Being a Perfectionist

Being A Perfectionist
(Is One Of My Flaws)
Miracle Man
5/16/2023

At times I’ve been told, just let it go,
but I never do things to just get by.
Though no one else might ever know,
I’m always the one I must satisfy.

It’s said you reap from what you sow,
and not all tasks are completed with ease.
From “get by” attitudes, bad habits

Homework Habits of a Perfectionist

Ask my parents. They’ll tell you, my favorite phrase, growing up was, “I can do it all by myself.” One day, I sat, spinning the top of my Flintstones vitamin bottle, wondering, how many spins until this thing opens. My mom insisted that she help. No, I told her, I can do it all by

Perfectionist

If you strive for perfection
You will never be content
There will always be flaws
Which you will resent
Nothing is perfect
And it will never be
Because the idea of perfection
It differs for you and me.

Perfectionist Poet

I set out to create a rhyme
   but the sounds won't come together
A haiku it was now going to be
   but the words became too many
I decided a sonnet will do fine 
   just then the words disappeared
     only ten lines shy of four
I couldn't

The Perfectionist

Chosen to be a perfectionist

all things in order

not out of order

the pantry is orderly

the shelves are amazing

the dishes are placed

neatly arranged with a homemade cake

perfectly amongst the race

clean clean clean away

no time wasted, non-worried faces

this is right, that is wrong

a perfect home

If it means being alone

straighten out items, neatness all around

when leaving, must come back

Perfectionist

There was this keen perfectionist named Jack,
each night before starting to stride the track
he’d enter the bathroom
to diligently groom,
return to see she’d by then hit the sack.

August 30, 2020
Syllable count : 10/10/6/6/10
Checked on howmanysyllables.com
Contest : Limerick Fun
Sponsor : Tania Kitchin

Cant You Tell

Can't you tell 
The hell I feel 
Like glass ripping thru my shoe to engrave in my heil 
The blood looks black an the shards remind me of the stars 
This stress created a moon 
I get away from it all 
Can't you tell 
I don't feel alone 
I don't need you at all 
Can't

Perfectionist

On a bamboo tip
A crow sits bending
The already bent

To Describe a Perfectionist

Let's see. It's someone who
on a successful day,
frets over a second of failure or two.
A pessimist, others may say. 



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Date: 20 / 01 / 2017

Perfectionist Is a Neurotic

showering in the virgin rain
apparent angles of discrimination
perfectionist is a neurotic
she was dancing shamanically
wild rejoicing in the
birth of a wild 
mushroom
purulent phlegm is a tonic too
supernumerary bands of light
no one is perfect
nothing is perfect
it is disease
she was sleeping now
at the shore of peace

10.39 am
july 19 2016

The Perfectionist Is Listening

The Perfectionist is Listening

the rich are committing suicide
and taking us with them
the prosthetic limbed bastards
Fort Darwin tottering on fewer stilts
once the masters of the universe
presently picking through garbage
looking for an Icarus to pilot
some way back among the clouds
their telepathic goon squads 
armed with the hard on of God
squat in the darkness of doorways
lightning strikes all

Perfectionist Complex

So is there any meaning as this time keeps on slipping,
Is our whole world nothing more than God's little play-thing?
These people around me, are they really worth anything more?
Even when death comes, everything in time simply resets. 

If it's all the same whether I were to live or die,
Then I'll choose life and push death

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