Perfectionism's Opposite (poem)

more acceptance, less striving for absolute perfection at all times

the first stanza of my poem with a yellow border, small pines on either side, and yellow hearts on opposite corners

---

Pine-lined path for miles.

I think I'll stay a while and just

be, breathe.

Not once does it cross my mind

that some trees need to be taller,

less scraggly, more vertical.

In this acceptance, I find perfection

every single time.

Far more than once,

my cranium is consumed by

what can be changed.

My skin? It could be clearer, less hairy.

My mind? It could be more grounded, less airy.

My eyes... Why can't they be a more striking shade

than boring brown?

Why can't I embrace my body

the way I embrace tree trunks?

My hair, the way I ooh and aah over fall leaves?

I'll try to accept myself imperfectly,

and in that acceptance,

maybe I'll find a self-love that's less ebb and flow.

I'm growing to love this body

in all its prickly-skinned, pudgy-bellied glory,

and that's progress.