The Depression Cure: Perfect

(I hated how I had to be perfect as a kid. But I hate this poem even more.)

Perfect

Eyes cast down,

I do not speak,

My mouth closed centuries past.

I am the Golden Child,

Put on a pedestal

I could not behold.

Given a title I never wants,

A crown I dare not keep.

A burden too much for me.

YOU!

You were my rival,

My friend,

My confidant,

My enemy.

Our small hands intertwined,

Broken by our minds in the years.

We were 5, I believe,

When our bonds were broken.

Perfect grades, I must have.

Perfect manners, I must have.

Perfect temper, I must have.

As a child,

I was known as a doll.

Perfect hair, teeth, eyes, clothes.

But I was soiled,

And they saw none of that.

They expect too much from me.

But you?

You just wanted a friend,

A confident,

A companion.

How many times did I have to hear:

“Why can’t you be as smart as Cristian?”

How many times did you have to hear:

“Why can’t you be as witty as Mabel?”

Too many times to count.

I do not want to see the looks of

Disappointment on my father’s face,

And the sigh escaping my mother’s lips.

You don’t want to see the look of

Dismay, written on your mother’s face,

Or the imperceivable shake of your

Abuela’s head.

They said I was a perfect child.

They still expect so,

But I was flawed,

Grew up so fast.

And you,

You saw that.

So we let go.

Teeming hearts,

My writing kept me sane.

The fantasies I created,

A wall between me and the world.

Oh Cousin!

Why were such goals

Thrust onto me?

Why is this weight,

Too heavy to carry?

My heart,

A leaden stone.

And the lines,

On my arms,

So vibrant and new.

I show the world,

And they do not see!

They rather turn a blind eye,

And still believe

The fantasy surrounding me.

Than to come with the truth

And help me (Or so I believe).

I was the poster child of our school.

Something they all envied & coveted.

The teachers praised me status;

The students degrade me for self-esteem.

And you watched all of this,

From your Ivory Tower,

Whilst mine crumbled to the ground.

You try to make amends,

It did not work.

For you know that you just watched

As the perfectionism was thrust upon me.

My soul was tortured,

The fake smile cracked.

They rather be blind,

And believe,

Than see and

Help me (Or so I believe)

Now I am older, wiser, mature,

And yet, I feel so naïve.

Their ideals are being thrust on me

I can’t take it anymore.

I want to run; hide;

Live in the fantasy world

Where anything is possible.

But that is not considered perfect.

So I sit here,

Prim and proper,

A showcase doll,

With that truth scribbled on to my arms and mind.

And all they see is the crown.

Can’t they see that I’m not?!?!

I’M NOT! I’M NOT!!!

But I must. I must be perfect.