Night of the living republicans

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The Picking of Imperfections

Perfect?
Perfect you want?
I’ll try my best
But in everything you say?
Everything?
Is it perfection you want?
I’ll try

I’ve done everything I can
I’ve worked myself to death
But still not perfect
How the hell
Could I possibly fix it?

I walk towards a mirror

What’s this we see?
A bump? A bump?
The imperfection!
I must be rid of it!
Immediately
Two fingernails reach for

A bump, a head, a scab
And I pick it off
Until I feel satisfied
Until the skin is gone
And all that is left is
A bit of blood

Hey
That felt good
Instant results, not having to wait
Maybe there is a bit of blood
A hole gauged out of my skin and body
But hey
It’s gone, right?
And skin heals, right?

I pick some more
And more
And more
At everything now
A hair that doesn’t look right
A blackhead no one but I can see
And the result is always the same
A small stream of blood
Which is sure to leave
A scab for me
To pick out later

Scars? SCARS?
How dare they appear?
Ruining perfection
I must be rid of them

I am covered now
To conceal the scars
All of them
Along my legs, arms, and back,
And face

All the scars
And imperfections
And emotions and everything
Hidden whichever way possible
To appear perfect?

Whenever I feel overwhelmed
I reach for these things I control
Like my nails
My skin, my eyelashes

That doesn’t look right
That doesn’t feel right
Nature is wrong

Let me fix it
Lemme have a go

My skin
It’s bleeding now
From all these scars that I pick at more
From your disapproving absence
And now you hate me
For my picking problem imperfection

Do you think your disapproval will help me now?

Is this the perfection you wanted?

I’m having trouble stopping at this point

It feels good
And it helps me deal with stress
The Imperfections. They’re getting bigger
I think they’re getting infected

I know its unhealthy now
But I can’t stop!
It is natural to me now, the picking
It is second nature

But you keep yelling


Now what?