I want to be perfect but what is perfect? And what the hell is wrong with me? You know what, nothing is wrong with me but I’m sure if I asked the world it would spit back a mile long list of my flaws. Things I probably never knew existed or even mattered. I’ve been needing to get this off of my chest because it’s been bugging me for quite some time now. I am obsessed with a distorted view of perfection, one that dictates what I am supposed to look like, what I am supposed to own, what I am supposed to drive, what I have to wear, who I have to date and who I have to be. Perfection is an ugly addiction that I can’t seem to break. It’s the reason why I wake up each morning.My reason for being.

What is perfection? And whose definition is correct? My Facebook friends? The girls who hates me? The boys I’m attracted to? They’re just as confused as I am but for some reason I still look for the answer through them. I can’t tell you what perfection is but I can tell you what it’s not.

Perfection isn’t something I can buy. It doesn’t equate to the amount of foundation I wear to hide my blemishes. It doesn’t add up to the amount of money I have spent to look the part. It doesn’t kill me to be super thin because that’s the “hot thing” to do. Nope. Perfection doesn’t waste time making my physicality appealing to the eyes of those who can’t see past it. Perfection doesn’t make me lose myself, sell myself and it damn sure doesn’t make me dim my own light to make others’ shine brighter.

It’s getting easier to become a victim of superficial sanity that I almost forgot my purpose, passion, and panties. Literally. Because honestly who and what is all of this for? I wake up, put make up on, wear shoes that hurt my feet, damage my hair to make it grow, work in jobs I hate, and give my love to people that are not deserving of it. I’ve gone to bed feeling empty at times. Perfecting the imperfect is a constant battle I will never win.

The best way not to be perfect is to be the best me. If I want to do something I’m going to do it not because it’s cool but because it pleases me. If I like something I’m going to like it and stop feeling the need to explain myself for being myself.

It came to me once I figured out what I liked, what I didn’t like, and what I was passionate about. My purpose superseded all of those mundane things. The goal was to replace the need to be perfect with the joy of my passion. Now that I’ve let this out, I can move forward passionately, constantly living in the richness of my already perfect life.

I’m going to live colorfully without any apologies. Perfect or not.

Daja