Misplaced Missive #58 – Perfection Is A Lie

You’re perfect.
This isn’t a confession,
And that’s not a complement.

A sight intriguing –
Beauty without flaw –
A notice born of the superficial,
A supercilious obsession
Guised in supposition.
An ostensible submission
To the wonders of
Playing at perfection,
To the wonderings and
Pretending at play.

You remain studiously oblivious ,
To this, my instinctual attraction
To the surface, I find layer upon
Layer upon the same.
On the surface, you’re so shiny. Blinding,
Naturally arousing my suspicion.
A calculated affectation,
In a bid to court affection,
Sordid protection from
Your failings well hid.

Everyone has defects,
Detractors, demons, and doubts.
If they’re not noticeable on the out,
They’re probably hidden within.
For one such as you,
So insecure in your own skin,
As to necessitate
A complete cover,
I wish for better.
No one will ever know you,
‘Til your scars show
As clearly as your smile.

No one is perfect,
this isn’t about hate,
And that’s not an insult.


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