Musings of a young black weirdo


I hate Perfect.

Perfect is what makes people compare themselves to others and hate themselves.

Perfect is what stole integrity, honesty, and trust from human relationships.

Perfect is what keeps people from enjoying their lives, forces people to turn to substances for understanding, and allows people to tear others down.

Perfect is the cousin of impossible, the husband of society’s beauty standards, and the brother of every -ism and addiction in society.

Perfect is a human creation used to describe the unattainable and the ultimate good, but it has turned into a reason for people to lie, scheme, and connive their way to the top.

Perfect is anxiety.

Perfect is depression.

Perfect is envy, anger, and sadness.

Perfect is hate.

I hate Perfect.

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