You perfect?
Just work it.
Ain't perfect?
Stop sulking.
The universe is an imperfect perfection.
Nevertheless,
it became an ambiguous infection.
Flaws are tattooed on us
like intricate vines;mind you,
they were never straight lines.
Never conceding, never impeding.
We fight for perfection,
instead of fighting perfection.
Mistakes become big sins;
from lies to crimes.
It was one of a kind;
costing lesser than a dime.
There was a boy,
whose name is Roy;
was more but nothing more than his youth.
Youth, they say,
was a time to make mistakes.
How much of this could be fake?
However hard he begged,
he was sent to confinement.
The reason was, he lacked
perfection and needed atonement.
Ten years when he was released,
he could not help but hide behind a fleece;
like a wolf under the skin of a sheep, life living like a beep.
No matter the surge of compunction,
people looked at him with apprehension.
All because of a small little mistake,
his life was always at stake.
Although he did not lived up to expectations,
he relinquished to perfection.
He understood that he couldn't be impeccable,
since his actions were unacceptable.
He succumbed to destruction,
because perfection,
has no existence.
Only acceptance.
You perfect?
Don't deserve it.
Ain't perfect?
Just accept it.
YOU ARE READING
The Lost Clan
PoetryHere's to the lost, the hopeless, the dreamers, the realist, the strong, the weak. The introvert, the extroverts. The popular, the outcast. The dominants, the submits. The light and the dark. The colours and colourless. The good and evil. The civili...
