I was raised to be a perfectionist,

And that's a trap.

But lucky for me,

I've come to see the seeds of perfection

That lie within,

And I'm OK with that.

I've trained myself to see

That the possibility of perfection

Is good enough.

This philosophy allows me to try to be happy,

Instead of driven,

Inspired instead of tortured,

Motivated, but not exacerbated to the limit.

And so I protect the beautiful perfect seeds,

Sometimes they turn into art.

But I protect my sanity

By remembering what integrity means,

By allowing my imperfect flaws

A public forum.

They're art, too.

They rage against the decorum that would turn me blue

And deprive my soul of air and light.

I fight the good fight every day,

And every night I lay my head down

And Rest In Peace.

And every dawn,

I'm born again to start again anew.

-jenn