The day ended
She was tired,
She was tired to her core.
Although she hadn’t done enough,
She couldn’t have done more.
She’d tried so hard,
And done okay,
But okay’s not alright
When it is purely on perfection
You have set ambitious sights.
And so to bed,
World weary,
Disappointed, aching too.
Tomorrow is another chance
Those perfect things, to do.

This entry was posted in Daily Life, Emotions, Mental Health and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

8 Responses to Perfectionist

  1. Yu/stan/kema says:

    Loved your poem, Pooky.


  2. jfb57 says:

    …and gradually bring that high level come down millimetre by millimetre xx

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Pooky – I truly relate, my friend.

    “It was OK”, she said and smiled,
    though deep down
    she knew the truth.
    No matter the grade, the job, the work
    it always felt like
    the losers’ booth.

    How can one many admire and look up to
    in lots of ways,
    Look down on herself and shudder
    day after hate-fuelled day?

    A little bit of kindness, given out
    with such delight,
    a heart full of compassion for everyone
    in sight…could surely be turned inward,
    for a moment or a day,
    But No, not now, not ever,
    It will always its own betray.”

    Liked by 1 person

  4. I can relate, despite daily trying to let go of being a perfectionist. Have you read Daring Greatly?

    Liked by 3 people

  5. aabed says:

    Hi Pooky!
    Nice poem.. lovely writing.

    Liked by 1 person

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