By - Kione
Incomplete, insufficient, deficient or
Whatever you want to call it,
It's the sort of feeling;
When you leave the Nutella jar half eaten or
When you can't finish playing your video game.
It's the same when you don't finish your classwork,
Empty notebooks with no ink
Covered with lone red slashes.
Like scars of a warrior,
Except there aren’t any signs of valour.
You set goals in your head,
Only to see them laugh in your face,
And you say it'll be better next time,
But has it ever been better?
You'll say you're not going to be pushed,
Yet why are you pushing yourself?
You're calling all the attention,
yet you lack the necessary substance.
"Why can't you just do things right?"
Then for lord's sake tell me what is right!
I'm done,
I'm done trying to be something I can't be.
I'm done trying to please,
Systems which cannot be pleased.
For when they say try and you'll succeed,
I find myself stuck at just the try part.
It's tiring you know,
To run around in the same loop with no end.
Maybe it's just me,
I'm probably just the sloth.
I'm probably the rigid one,
Who can't crack open her hard shell.
Or maybe it's all of us,
Maybe we're all not full enough.
We're all as fragmentary as the other,
Just that society tells us we should be exemplary.
And the funny thing is there is no right way,
It never existed.
We aren't defective,
We're just human.
We learn and we grow.
From being species who collect off of experience.
We're all perfectly imperfect,
In this oh so perfect world.