I know what I am
A perfectionist
I maul over this
I maul over that
Thinking is this perfect
Or is that right
Everything must be in its right place
If a table is crocked
Well to me anyway
Ill straighten up everyday
If my clothes don't match
I walk in horror and shame
Thinking did I really wear that
If I paint on a isle
And people they say
It looks wonderful
No more should you paint
I look at them strange
Are you mad cant you see?
There's an unbalance
That needs to be fixed
Even in poetry
It takes me awhile
To read what I write everyday
If not ok in my eyes
Ill look for the right words
The right rhythms
Embellishing words as we speak
Shaking my head
Blushing just a bit
Yes I am a perfectionist
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem