Anonymous
I read what I write over,
over,
over-
And over again.
The piles of eraser bits cover my desk
Like snow on a cold winter’s day,
Can no longer see the table.
Have written three different versions of this same poem,
None is good enough.
I don’t like working in groups because the others won’t put in as much effort.
What is perfect?
I can hear my family laugh downstairs
But I remain like a robot, working
Why can’t I laugh it off?
Why am I such a crybaby?
Stop it,
Don’t let them see you crack,
Smile,
They’ll suspect something.
Long lists of work take over my computer screen.
What is perfect?
Brushing down my hair, don’t want to look sloppy
Yet still, the individual strands push me away.
Have to look over the room before leaving
Did I forget something?
Why can’t I be perfect?
I count the lines in each stanza
One, two, three, no!
Start again:
Make a checklist
Check punctuation
I don’t like it.
Does this sound right?
Why isn’t it good?
Will I get a good grade?
I have to align the text on my screen,
Take out my clothes the night before,
Pull down your shirt.
Why am I not good enough?
What is perfect?
Check once more.