Perfect

This is for the girls who believe the number on the scale, determines whether they are beautiful or not.

This is for the men who don’t fit in the role of “tough man,” that media portrays them to be.

This is for the little kid in the back of the class who was labeled “Ugly,” before he got the chance to grow into something more.

You are not perfect.

This is for the girl who is covered in scars, who cover her skin with battleground after battle ground.

This is for the boy who’s afraid to stand up to his parents for who he truly is.

You are not perfect.

This is for the child from a broken home, for the parents who tried to make it feel a little less broken.

This is for the broken home, who is tattered with shattered dreams and hopeless memories.

You are not perfect.

For the people who are afraid to step foot outside their homes based in the color of their skin, for the cops who fight their co-workers to end the racial profiling.

You are not perfect.

This is for the white people who are labelled “entitled,” when everyday is a struggle to reach a single gasp of air.

This is for the rich kids who relate more to a nanny than their own parent.

You are not perfect.

For the elementary school kids who are blinded to what life will greet them with,

To the middle school kids who struggle with bullies day after day, thinking it couldn’t possibly get worse from there

For the noose that strikes away high school students, this is for you.

Because life couldn’t knock us hard enough to the ground as a child, we walked into a face punch and got right back up just to be kicked into the ribs, multiple times where getting up was harder each time a kick released the blood and air from our lungs.

We as people are fixated on the idea of perfection, we lost our way on what that even is, social freedom, or social authority?

You are not perfect.

We are people, born to make mistakes. Because as a baby, we tried to stand but only flew right back to the ground. But it was okay, we got back up and tried again and again until we got it right, and even as we grow older we will always flop down. On our faces, our backs, anywhere we get cuts and bruises, but we stand back up again.

We are not perfect.

 

Poetry Slam: 

Comments

Anabell.R.16

I wrote this about how media portrays people everyday. Please, enjoy. 

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