Perfection

I aspire.
To be the best me.
To be the most perfect little fucker you’ve ever fucking seen.

The skinniest.
More wretched than the rest.
With my flaws written on my sleeve.

I’ll paint with every color, if you wanted me to;
And I’ll invent colors not yet thought of,
If it’s what you wanted me to do.

I could steal all the blue right out of the sea
And make the perfect dress,
That only you would see.

Perfection; my dear little friend.
I call you again.
Come back to me.

I could dance the songs of all the planets hanging in the sky;
And I could get you so high, you’d be a bird flying by.
And I could collect all the grains of sand in a jar
And put it by your bedside so your home is never far.

I could walk to the moon, and bring  you back your soul;
I could fold myself up and become the tiniest little mole.
Or I could prance like a deer in the rain while it blows,
If you’d think the world of me, and kiss me in the snow.

I could make you the happiest fucker you’ll ever be,
If only perfection would come back to me.

I wonder if perfection knows my ultimate goal?
To catch it when it shows, and never let it go?
Maybe that’s why she eludes me so.
I want her, but she wants to be free to come and flow.

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