The Little Sonnet

She is perfect; slim, beautiful, and more.

She’s not perfect; large, ugly, even less.

She is perfect; rude but never a bore.

She’s not perfect; depressed; nothing I guess.

Imperfection is never accepted.

It belongs in the dark, where she will stay.

Standards; the inevitable death beads.

From perfection, she is driven astray.

Now she is all alone, with nothing left.

Into society she cannot go.

Perfection has committed a great theft.

Imperfections sent to the great chateau.

Back in the water, never truly  seen.

Perfection is not worth this tragic scene.