Pangs of Perfection

(Submitted for the Nancy Thorp International Poetry Contest in October 2021)

I stare at the blank white canvas

Paintbrush clutched between my fingers

Wondering, pondering, searching for inspiration

Only one thought, just one, lingers.

And then, the emotions in my heart are cascading

Onto the canvas, I imagine colours galore

Through my art I am trying to tell the world

I am a perfectionist, but to me isn’t there a whole lot more?

People only skim through the surface

Does anyone really bother to delve deep?

They see a girl straining to be impeccable

She is a perfectionist is all they perceive.

No one sees her mind beset with worries

How perfection is a double-edged sword for her

Always pushing her towards her ever rising goals

Making her restless, causing anxiety to occur.

People think it’s a blessing to be good at what she does

But there is something they don’t comprehend

The mountain of pressure to maintain standards

Which weighs her down and makes her overextend.

They do not understand or care about her struggle

They casually appreciate the end result of her strife

But isn’t the journey more important

Than the destination to which she has arrived?

But if they did try to unravel her mind

What is tightly locked up in her heart and soul

They would be bewildered by her churning thoughts

Her doubts and apprehensions left unsaid, untold

The frustration of being so finicky and meticulous

Fear of not doing her best bubbling deep within her core

Anxious and distressed, she walks alone

Still determined and diligent to reach her goal.

I take my paint brush and splash colours onto my canvas

Raven-black for fear, and for worry, greys and sky blue

A deep reddish brown for frustration and orange for resolve

And for pride, of the bright yellow colour, various hues.

After I have completed my abstract work of art

My handiwork I admire, yet with a critical eye

To the world I remark, “It may not be perfect

But then again, believe it or not, neither am I.”