Growing up, "Perfect" was the most practiced word in our house, everything was supposed to be perfect, not good, but perfect. The floor should be glimmering, the walls should look like the walls of Château de Versailles, everything needed to smell like Jasmine, everything needed to be perfect.
So did we.
As thin as a chopstick and as light as a feather. Small, tiny and perfect.
So water and sugar free gum became my new best friends, along with the perfect concealer to hide the darkness underneath my eyes, the perfect manicure to hide the white spots on my nails and the perfect deep conditioner to help with my falling hair.
Because I needed to perfect.
Perfect.
The word that left my mouth so many times that it lost it's meaning, but I still heard you repeating it over and over again.
Everything needs to be perfect.
So as you lay me down in that perfect gleaming mocha brown coffin, before you go arrange the perfect funeral for me, tell me
Am I perfect now?
