writing

Perfectionist’s Reality

Drooping eyes, bloodshot and heavy-lidded,

Dark circles frame my brown beauties.

Shoulders tight, each muscle clinched,

Feeling the blood pump through my arms.

Sore neck and back, hip and leg out of place.

All of this from stress I put on myself.

Laying awake, telling myself not to worry,

but my mind fights me night after night.

Did I catch all the details? Do I have it right?

It’s reaching the peak and can’t come soon enough.

Once it is done, a brief relief, but more work will begin,

Starting back up, more late nights and long days.

Perfectionists are far from perfect, this I know.

But it doesn’t stop my stress or my mind.

Can we please win the lottery now?

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