Who Is to Say
Olivia King ‘17
Perfection is but an illusion
Chased around like a lightning bug in the dark,
Appearing just long enough for you to grab hold,
Only for it to escape and once again taunt, in the blink of an eye
The compliment, more so a burden,
Haunting a society, which so desperately tries to achieve it
Leaving all who walk the earth preoccupied
With the nonexistent myth
Perfection is but an affliction
Thrown around like the “hot potato” when you were six
Labeling one thing before something different comes along,
Snatching the word for an instant
Before something else does the same
Perfection is but a misconception
For who is to say what is?
The idea as unique to an individual as a fingerprint,
Changing from one pair of shoes to the next
Leading to the brutally honest reality
That not only is perfection not real
But perfection is not right
Chased around like a lightning bug in the dark,
Appearing just long enough for you to grab hold,
Only for it to escape and once again taunt, in the blink of an eye
The compliment, more so a burden,
Haunting a society, which so desperately tries to achieve it
Leaving all who walk the earth preoccupied
With the nonexistent myth
Perfection is but an affliction
Thrown around like the “hot potato” when you were six
Labeling one thing before something different comes along,
Snatching the word for an instant
Before something else does the same
Perfection is but a misconception
For who is to say what is?
The idea as unique to an individual as a fingerprint,
Changing from one pair of shoes to the next
Leading to the brutally honest reality
That not only is perfection not real
But perfection is not right
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