Perfect People Poem by Casey Kilpatrick

Oh to be in the presence of Perfect People.
Oh to gaze upon those Graced by God.
Their heedlessness is nearly painful,
A mocking heartthrob.
Do they know the sun shines upon them?
Do they know they sit within the eye of the storm?

Do they feel the weight of their beauty?
The burden set upon them by Heaven herself?
The chasm that lies between them and candor is vast,
A never ending expanse created by the mud itself.
They know more than anyone of facades.
Of being judged by the curve of their nose and the solidity of their stomachs.
Told they are Faith's Chosen, hit with blunt force by a blatant disregard for their bruises.
They suffer the jealous eye of the dirt, the wide smile of the crooked.
Will they ever be met with authenticity?
Will they ever be appraised without predisposition?
Their reality sets in gradually as they realize the canyon will never be filled.

Oh to be a Perfect Person.
Oh to be Graced by God.
Their pain is heedlessly ignored, their throbbing hearts mocked.
Do they wish the sun shone upon them?
Do they long to sit within the eye of the storm?