The Fear of Imperfection

The fancy notebook was never filled
although it willed you to write
Words promised, to be sealed
you want it to be right

Words should be chosen carefully,
or so that’s what they said
But remember this, remember truthfully
All our ledgers are gushing red

The fragile mind, made of glass, is full of scratches,
The crumpled heart, made of paper, is fulled with ink blotches
But note that everyone has their own hamartia
A fatal flaw that should be loved and not hated.


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