are you convinced?

i am perfect because my life depends on it

i put on quite a great show

keeping my grades high

and the cut on my suffocating, cropped shirts low

i feel my cracked cuticles lacerate amongst themselves

itching my ears with their scraping like sandpaper on wood

as the series of taps my fingers execute by rote

sets of four

provide me with the security nothing else could

my blue, exhausted jeans are higher than my self esteem

seizing my hips

confiscating my breath

but you see a wild trip

if i miss a tap

or a blink

or i didn’t spend an hour over the sink

would i still be as perfect as

you think?

Xanadu