poem to perfectionism

Always seeking,
ever curious.

A path so narrow that no light will come through.

A shrinking and suffocated space,
where judgment and shame weigh heavy.
So that you’re sluggish
Even in your determined, breathless race towards
Perfect.

And you wonder why you feel burnt at the edges:
It’s the friction of constantly rubbing up against your own self,
getting in your own way.

Give it room to breathe, babe.
Remember to slow down,
puuuuuull that air into you.

Give yourself more space:
to wiggle
to breeeeeze through and flow
Instead of always burning out.

Because you’re bumping into yourself.

Give yourself more space:
to grow
to glow
to flourish
to flirt and flit about

You knew your soul had wings.
You’ve felt it soar,
you’ve heard it sing.

Feel it light upon sudden and
smooth gusts of wind.

You just had to give yourself more space.