to feed the beast of perfection
I cut loose scraps of myself
using glass shard words
other people said that
became my own inner voice
and when they finally
gave me my flowers
I could not water them
in the desert I had become.
but like all deserts,
it cannot always be dry
and flash rain will come
the moment I remember
that I have a choice
to water them or not,
for the power to terraform
my desert into an oasis
has always been within me.
About the Creator
R.C. Taylor
I write to invoke, to process, to honor, to resurrect, and—sometimes—to grieve but, above all, I write to be free.
Follow along for stories about a little bit of everything (i.e. nostalgia and other affairs of the heart).
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Comments (4)
A perfect poem about "the beast of perfection." This is when I want to keep close when I need the reminder.
Wow! We can be our own worst enemy or our own best friend. It’s amazing that such a simple choice can be so difficult. Loved the hopefulness and the use of desert and water as such powerful metaphors!
Very inspiring and hopeful poem. Nice one!
Wow! Love your style! 🤩