I miss the subpar.
The low quality,
The...
Ugly, unbalanced, out-of-focus, lopsided attempt
At perfection.
The programming has stolen the imperfects from me.
Yanked them
Right out of my hands
When I wasn't looking, when I was busy staring off
At the polished wonderland of candy cane art,
Sweet bits drenched in the fryer oil of something as gross as
Ease.
Ease of access, ease of input, ease of processing.
Slap a few keys
And press a button to get it right.
It's right.
It's perfect.
And it tasted so damn good.
Those clean lines,
Crisp edges,
Those metaphors and similes and endless, empty eyes...
Empty eyes.
Empty. Eyes.
Because that is a perfect thing too.
Hollow.
Without emotions.
Those don't make sense, those aren't real, those are ugly.
They are subjective and why
Would you ever
Want
Subjective
When the objective
Exists?
I miss the subpar
More than my father.
I've heard every perfect cadence.
Listened to every note hit, held, and left.
I've read all the perfect prose in this style and that,
Watched my words shift in my hands
Like a dying body.
Limp.
I've consumed all the pretty faces,
The shaded jaws,
Hands programmed to look lifelike, to look perfect, to be perfect.
I've digested enough
To know I've been poisoned.
And I want to know now
If the perfect
Exists
Inside of me, if that's why I feel so blank,
So soulless.
So empty.
So vacant.
So quiet on the war front of my dreams.
__________________________
A/N: It physically pains me to write such an...odd looking poem but the point had to be made (to myself at least!). If you're up for a challenge for fun, go write something imperfect! Something you'd see marked down for sale.
About the Creator
Silver Daux
Shadowed souls, cursed magic, poetry that tangles itself in your soul and yanks out the ugly darkness from within. Maybe there's something broken in me, but it's in you too.
Ah, also:
Tiktok/Insta: harbingerofsnake
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Violence Begets
"Any last words, cowboy?" "None you'd understand, sodbuster." "Funny. That's Marshall Sodbuster to you. But I meant some last nugget that would help us in the adjudication of the myriad offenses counted against you and your gang. I wasn't asking for penitence."
By Adam Diehl4 days ago in Fiction
Comments (5)
I love seeing a poem that required a step out of the poet's comfort zone. This is great, Silver. Let yourself do the uncomfortable writing more often!
Oooooooh, I swallowed this one whole without chewing! So. Much. RESONANCE! AceGURLLL you done DID it! ...And I wanna thank ya 👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾
If this kind of poem is not perfect, then I will never be. The emotion in this poem is quite moving.
Beautiful, moving, and so right. There is no such thing as perfect art, just like there is no such thing as a perfect person. There is the perfect sentiment for the time, or just what we needed to hear, there is exceptional technique, but not perfection.
I truly loved this. I love the imperfect things.. and somehow that MADE this perfect to me.