I don’t like picking the first card from the deck, but I do because that’s what’s expected. Always meshing and staying in between the lines when all I want to be is a scribble that makes the perfectionist cringe.
Just a little off, a picture that’s never quite straight. A zigzag line with one curve. A crooked smile and that perpetual tilt of the head.
It feels too stiff when the curtains are perfectly symmetrical. When everything seems to have a place and that’s exactly where it is. So my heart likes to beat out of rhythm. My lungs like to hold its air when I’m not paying attention.
And though I can’t help but strive for perfection, I hate it.