To Be Determined

The Perfectionists

We are never good enough.
To us, perfection is attainable,
but it's always just out of reach;
we spend our lives chasing it
like a child chases a butterfly
with a net that's not quite long enough.

We read the emails that we write
over and over again
before sending them.
And after they're sent, we go back
into our sentboxes
to see if we missed any commas or apostrophes
or called a Professor "Doctor"
or a Doctor "Professor".

We look in the mirror every day
and see teeth that aren't white enough
skin that's not smooth enough
and eyes that aren't bright enough.

We sink into plush couches
in dimly lit rooms
filled with candles and pictures of the ocean
that are supposed to make the atmosphere "homey".
And we listen as the therapists tell us that we're "textbook".

We see other's successes
as indications of our failures.
There's always more that can be done
and we know it.
Doubts beat against our minds like drums.

At night, we enter a state between awake and asleep
where we search for answers to math problems
that can't be solved
and write essays that could use
one more example.
Just one more example.