Perfect Flaws

Hello there

I could really relate to this poem. I actually find myself with the same feelings on occasion. What I liked about it is how it transcended from the start. You began with a very small feeling and it grew and grew until the end. Sort of like growing anticipation.
I really don't have anything bad to say about this so good job.
Keep writing and good luck

LenaDuchannes wrote:I feel it.
The eyes of society I like this just because I've always had this kind of thought that society was like a living, breathing person, the eyes being the interceptors, connecting straight to the brain to assemble all the problems of what it's beholding, which seems to me to be exactly what you are writing about in this poem.
watching my every move.
Even when I'm alone,
the pressure haunts me.
They follow me. Okay, a thought here: Maybe try and change the line above this one, or this one. I tend to take things a little too literally at times, but for me, I'm stopped her because first you talk as if this is a person, then a force (pressure), and then a person again. I still like the wording, though, very nice.
No matter where I am or what I'm doing,
they wait to find a flaw,
a mistake,
waiting to take the chance to judge me.
I have nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.
So I spend my days scribbling.
Drawing,
writing,
something that makes a mark on paper,
so I have somewhere to put my flaws.
I hide those papers,
so that those piranhas won't find them.
So I can be perfect.
Like everyone wants me to be.
Like I want me to be. I especially like how you ended this. My reason for this is because in society, no matter who you are, you try to fit in. Human nature just aims us to fit in with the rest of the population and not stand out in a bad way. It's sort of like self preservation.

I feel it.
The eyes of society
watching my every move.
Even when I'm alone,
the pressure haunts me.
They follow me.
No matter where I am or what I'm doing,
they wait to find a flaw,
a mistake,
*waiting to take the chance to judge me.
I have nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.
So I spend my days scribbling.
Drawing,
writing,
something that makes a mark on paper,
so I have somewhere to put my flaws.
I hide those papers,
so that those piranhas won't find them.
*So I can be perfect.
Like everyone wants me to be.
Like I want me to be.