Mature for your age” is my domain, “burnt out” my kingdom and “ex gifted kid” my phylum.
Every easy assignment, each word of encouragement I receive is burned like coals in the furnace of my chest.
Starved for more I dig endlessly to satiate an urge I cannot see or touch.
That disease, perfection was slipped into my sippy cup like arsenic into tea, unseen, it coats my throat and echoes in my speech.
Like a fungus it spreads its mycelium through my mind, connecting my passions and pursuits into a superorganism of toxicity.
Roots reaching down into my lungs restrict my breathing without release until the deadline has passed only to be followed by another and another.
Through my arms it reaches, indistinguishable from veins, my fingers freeze before even a single pen stroke, “If it isn’t perfect it’s pointless.”
With this equation as my doctrine, I follow it like a heavenly light across this churning sea of uncertainty, a prophet of the myth: perfection.
Blinded I walk and pray that the stones will find my feet, accomplishment my sword and shield, achievement worn like a talisman around my neck to ward off what lies beyond the path laid before me.
Afraid that what lurks can smell my fear, I mask it with the perfume of humility and clothe it in faux strength, avoiding my mirror which sees through my disguise, my own gaze a giveaway.
Like monkey bars in a playground, others meet my standards with a mere stretch while I must face an endless climb comparable to Mt. Everest, my climbing rope sliced by the knife in my own hand.
I am enriched and impressed by those around me and live to see their success, every flower’s uniqueness filling my heart, yet I cannot see the beauty growing at my very own feet.
I cannot enjoy the freedom of making for fear of imperfection, were I a spider I’d have made and destroyed a thousand webs seeking symmetry.
My thirst for perfection lulls me with a song of fulfillment, like a snake it winds its way around my throat, tighter with each passing day.
Caught up in an endless race like a dog chasing its own tail to a point of exhaustion I have to command myself “Stop!