Two imperfect pieces,
with different grooves and edges.
Each were not broken nor incomplete,
each were perfectly neat.
Where one was lacking, the other had more,
and in that empty space, they meet.
Like the perfect snug, they fit.
No need to search for a missing piece anymore.
Put together, pulled apart through time,
and distance that is far.
No matter how pulled apart they are,
they will be put together in time.
Because they are the imperfect pieces that fit perfectly only with each other.
And when they are together, everything makes sense again.
Perfection, flawless, impeccable.
Unrealistic and unattainable.
Mistakes and flaws.
Gripping my heart like claws.
Until when will I punish myself?
This perfection obsession,
hazed my reflection.
Is the mirror dirty or is my brain cloudy?
The more I avoid making mistakes,
the more I make mistakes.
What do I do after the mistakes are made?
Acknowledge and learn.
I’m perfection in my imperfection.
I feel that we fear death,
and create life for it,
because life is the only way we know of living.
We create that life
so that we know how to live.
Because what happens beyond death,
stays amongst the dead.
And because the thought that one day,
everything turns black with no end,
is more unassuring than thinking that your soul will burn for your sins.