Perfection Doesn’t Exist

Perfection Doesn’t Exist

When the solitude’s penal servitude

Look inward and into the mirror

Is it a face or world without grace?

That abandonment makes loneliness

How many when reaching out, hit their hands?

The barrier that exists without sight or sounds

Fear becomes reality in place of cheer

Those questions asked every holiday in a year

For convention is a mask that’s worn

Regardless whether those behind are together or torn

It’s done and has become traditional form

That if you’re outside that norm, you’re viewed with pity or scorn

Am I not human for the feelings that attack?

Don’t I wish for a conventional track?

I’ve no answer to those questions over reality

I do know that I’m who I am and that’s Me