We Are Not Perfect
We are not perfect—
not the saints we post online,
not the curated smiles
behind which we hide the mess.
We break things.
We forget birthdays,
hold grudges too long,
and sometimes say things
we wish we never thought.
We are not made of marble.
We are chipped stone,
worn by years of trying,
patched over with second chances
and half-meant apologies.
We slam doors.
We ghost people we love
because we don’t know
how to say I’m scared,
I’m tired,
I don’t know what I’m doing.
So we vanish
and call it space.
We are not perfect—
we lie to keep the peace,
we pretend to know
when we’re completely lost,
and sometimes,
we hurt others
just to feel less powerless ourselves.
We scroll endlessly
looking for meaning
in the flicker of strangers’ lives,
comparing our blooper reel
to someone else’s highlight reel,
as if that ever helped.
We are not perfect—
we cry in bathrooms,
snap at cashiers,
let the dishes sit for days.
We start things we never finish,
say we’ll change
and then don’t.
Or do. But slowly.
We cling to people
who are already walking away,
and we push away those
who dare to stay.
We mistake chaos for passion
and silence for peace,
not knowing how to live in the in-between.
We are not perfect—
and maybe that’s the point.
We are made of fault lines,
but fault lines grow mountains.
We are built from trial
and contradiction,
from falling apart
and learning how to hold again.
We are not perfect—
but we show up.
We try.
We mess up and make it right
(or at least try to).
We build love
out of broken pieces
and learn to forgive the cracks.
We are not perfect—
we are human.
And that’s more than enough.
