Perfection is a standard
Like a foot of snow on a cold winter morning
Unbroken and untrodden-
It must be broken to go anywhere.
Little dolls lined up on the mantle
Untouchable and unflawed-
Also unable to go anywhere.
My face and hair after hours in the bathroom
Poised and perfect-
Yet unable to go anywhere.
Once it all meets the world
Full of pain and heartache and chaos
The perfection fades, replaced by
Pathways and smudges and smile lines.
Becoming trodden and moveable and real.
19 February 2014
I wrote this as I looked out the window at the foot of snow covering my yard. There were some places completely untouched but the places that offered me a hope of escaping this house where the cleared and touched places. Often I spend too long trying to make myself beautiful and then I realize that I admire the girls who are so full of joy with their hair flying everywhere and no make-up. Beauty is not always perfect.