Tell me where these flaws derive from? Itching from the grass under our feet; to the hands we so dearly want to hold. Is there a text book, a guide of some meticulous sorts. Iv never found a universal perfection. We spit that word out. But whose we, Me and a social construct, a gender identity, a communal anxiety? Is being flawed about not be accepted, slithering through boy and girl, tall and short, these class room desires are perverse. So, we gain confidence through others, aching to know how we look, but not how we feel.
Flawless, I am flawed, fake, real, human. If you touch a wall, that structure will most likely live longer then you. Isn't that queer. The walls are perfect, it's math, it's unchangeable, unquestionable, the ultimate flawless creation, but we are same. If strong enough, you wont be able to be torn down, heels planted into the floor like redwoods, we're verbal. Tell the person to fuck off. Scream if you can. This body you hold, this body you obtain, defend it, fight for it.