Imperfectly Perfect

You take great care,
And factor every detail,
To do it perfectly,
And everyone applauds you.

But you are human,
Bound to make errors.
And when you slip,
Others can't accept it.

When you're aiming perfection,
You go great lengths,
You take great pains,
To make moments right.

What is the price?
Your pay in return,
Only you know it,
Others can't see it.

You push the bar,
To a new summit,
Unknowingly you keep adding,
More pressure to yourself.

The journey of perfection,
Often blinds your vision,
To the self-inflicted harm,
And the agonising loneliness.

It makes you mad,
To see flawed people,
Doing work just fine,
Cheerful, laughing and happy.

While you plough through,
So many intricate issues,
That others couldn't see,
And you take responsibility.

Remind your gentle heart,
That there's nothing wrong,
For the losses incurred,
Were aims too high.

The peril of perfection,
Constricts your breath away.
Makes you be hard,
On yourself all time.

While it is good,
To be hard once,
But when done often,
You shatter your peace.

It throws you ultimatums,
And makes you paralysed,
While trying to make,
Decisions all the time.

Can you pen tales,
With dry, empty pens?
With worn out nibs,
And leaking body parts?

You, my dear perfectionist,
The price you pay,
For being very hard,
Is to break yourself.

Like the broken pen,
That leaks all ink,
Your sad broken heart,
Will leak all happiness.

And just like how,
You seal the cracks,
To stop the leaking,
Your heart needs fixing.

When a pen breaks,
You can buy another.
When your heart breaks,
Can you replace it?

The journey of perfection,
Does shackle your limbs,
To break all shackles,
Start loving yourself more.

You are not satisfied,
Not because of arrogance,
It's that you developed,
A knack for things.

True perfection occurs when,
Not when under control.
Rather you let go,
Of worries and play.

While perfection is noble,
And everyone appreciates it,
Others become detached to
What you truly are.

To strike a bond,
With the people close,
Perfection does not matter,
It is the flaws.

Despite what you do,
You are a human,
Bound to make errors,
Bound to learn again.

While it is wise,
To have watchful eyes,
You should understand dear,
It is quite natural.

This is a lesson,
To keep in mind,
When you plough through,
And hurt yourself badly.

This is a lesson,
To forget in mind,
When you make mistakes,
And you don't learn.

When you love yourself,
You accept yourself wholly,
The good parts and,
The broken parts too.

A sense of peace,
Does linger in you,
When you accept yourself,
And it radiates outward.

You now truly become,
The pen you dreamt,
To write many tales,
To your heart's content.

This is what truly,
Means to be yourself,
Your heart and mind,
And body in unison.

When this does happen,
Your heart is full,
Of happiness and joy,
And a serene calmness.

In such restful state,
The heart is content,
The mind is clear,
Your body is ready.

Now you set forth,
Your journey of perfection,
You will sail smooth,
And you will win.

In such restful state,
Your union is complete,
And you find ways,
To correct all flaws.

Now people will not,
Think of you odd,
For they have seen,
Your best and worst.

And now more importantly,
They saw your flaws,
And were able to,
Relate with you truly.

Added to your admiration,
They shall feel related,
The formal talks dissolve,
And the controls fade.

They now feel calm,
To open themselves up,
For they see you,
As a human too.

None of us are,
Truly Gods in life.
We may climb up,
But still are humans.

If we are perfect,
Will we be humans?
That begs the answer,
Imperfections make us human.