I work overtime to add extra weight to my shoulders,
already weakened and crumbling,
and only because I know I cannot take it.
I am harder on myself than I have to be,
it’s a disease, a venom that snakes through my skeleton,
en route to my saddened soul.
I am not good enough, and I will never be good enough,
my reflection will forever be tainted with disgust,
and my thoughts will always be stained with dissatisfaction.
Striving for perfection is unreal,
aiming for a flawless being is a futile task,
so tell me why, for the love of God, I am still trying so hard?