I need to get used to being perfect.

I’m perfect, I am.

It’s a funny thing,

never failing, having no flaws.

As each day passes 

I get better.

And every time I think, 

Surely, this is it

but the next day I’m astounded that 

I am better than I’ve ever been.

I can’t even look in the mirror,

because I’m scared 

I’ll get lost 

in my reflection.

But here I am,

sure in my skin,

and I will be here forever,

‘cause I have no room to grow.