sat by the ocean

perfect

I'm not trying to make my flaws pretty,
I'm trying to make them perfect
turn on a softer song, so I can breathe
and make sure that it's worth it

if I'm not in the mood,
then what's the point of feeling these feelings?
what's the point in grieving when a love song is playing?

a dreamy night so soft and pure
is perfect for wrenching my heart out and letting it bleed all over these blank white pages
I like ruining them
because it's the only thing I can destroy with no remorse

I just wanna make a bad decision for once,
I'm tired of being so perfect
I'm pure and innocent until you look underneath,
because that's just how they like it
well, what if I displayed it all up front?
not just my nightmares, but my daydreams too?
would you still love me
if I let the darkness become as obvious as the light?

if I let my colors turn gray,
instead of switching violently from black and white,
would you still like me so much as to say it's love?

when I fix my hair and put on new clothes,
I don't care if other people find me pretty.
I just wanna find me pretty.
I just wanna feel good about myself.

it helps me feel like I'm chasing perfection,
slowly gaining on it,
but instead,
I am here,
squeezing my beating heart in my hand like a stress ball.

I'm not trying to make my flaws pretty,
I'm trying to make them perfect.
turn off the music, I can't see.
I need to make sure I'm worth leaving.

because I don't want to trap them here,
I want to let them know it's okay to leave,
because I kind of want them to, sometimes—
maybe then I'll avoid ruining them.
maybe then I'll be able to empty my head of social responsibility.
maybe then I'll stop feeling so fucking guilty.

I strive for absolute perfection,
but not in the absence of flaws.
but if my flaws are flawed,
that means my laws are flawed,
and I am small and breaking and can't handle much more than this.

I don't love them all out of love,
I love them out of obligation.
did you really think I'd love you
when you keep making me feel so bad about myself?
calling me an old woman?
preying upon my self-consciousness
just to get me to obey?

tell me,
do you think I love you?
can you tell me why?
and can you tell me how you want to be loved by me?
because it freaks me out that I don't know how you want me,
because I'm used to being given a set of instructions, a person to act like

that's why you all liked me in the first place,
and why I can't have you all in the same place.

I'm suffocating.

and yeah, I secretly do know what's wrong with me.
down to every last detail, I'd imagine.
but I either don't bring it up or don't tell you,
say I don't know,
because I don't want you to see the full extent of my darkness.