Everything was in order,
A paper aligned next to a ruler,
A file alphabetically labelled.
A step perfectly planned,
And executed.
She had lived by the same rules,
For all her life.
Everything has to be perfect,
It has to be planned.
No loose strings,
Wavered from her bun,
No unnecessary words,
Left her lips.
But on this journey to perfection,
She forgot the definition of the
Word perfect.
It means not to be on par,
Or on point,
It means not to be measured,
In a way that others are.
Perfection doesn't mean no loose ends
Or trimmed roses.
Perfection means destiny.
And your destiny,
Can only be measured by yourself,
No physical standards,
Need to be met.
On her journey to a false perfection,
She forgot to dream.
Rather she remembered to dream,
But she scolded herself for it,
She tossed those foolish dreams aside.
How could she ever
Turn the world into a nation?
How foolish she was.
How could she ever turn her music,
Into soul food?
She couldnt, was the answer.
It was too unrealistic,
A goal that's unreachable,
A task that could never be completed,
Not by her at least.
So as she sat,
One leg neatly crossed over the other,
The words that had once meant the
World to her,
Dont forget to dream,
Were as quickly disregarded,
As the paper in her trashcan.
YOU ARE READING
Poetic Justice
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