Melodically Collected

Perfection, excellence, accomplishment is what I solely strive for. I long for a sense of completion that is only described as unblemished. Roads to such an ambition translate to a lifetime. Thus, I am dreadfully far behind. A lifetime seems so indeterminate and purely irrational. Dolls are faultless, why can’t I be. Their emotions are concealed by one meager expression painted across in plastic goodness. They are forever coveted, fancied and fussed over like children. Immaculate their skin remains as years flitter by. Perfection, precision, flawlessness.

There are moments in life when we contentedly realize our true calling or aspiration. Sorrowfully, not everyone is granted with such an occurrence. Well I have been greeted by this luxury quite recently. The miserable aspect of it all is the sole fact that I am not sure what to do with this founding, for I have been steered into this direction before. Honestly I have always been a firm believer in doing what you please while disregarding what the world has to say. Oh, I would love to do that now, but due to past happenings I am hesitant and frightened. Then again, why should I be terrified? I am merely a young woman attempting to find her way in this world. Mmmm, I should follow my heart though it is easier said than done. 

After 22 years of life, I am finally learning that happiness cannot be forced nor pushed away. I have always possessed this uncanny ability to rid myself of all that could have granted me sheer contentment. Wretchedly, that ability began to flourish until my own soul became unable to tame it’s unworthy deeds. I am no angel, for I have committed sins that could make my mother cringe in distrust. Though I am a human being. A single being that continues to frolic along the path that she has chosen. Though this path seems picturesque in every way it is up to me, not anyone else, to travel down this path wisely & open to any bliss that may dance my way … because darling, its not guaranteed.

Nothing frightens me more than remaining completely alone. Though my lips never speak of love, my heart senses another phenomenon. Miserably, being that I possess some form of affection repellent I could never experience what I sincerely desire. Months pass and the hours of life tick away. Slowly but surely all that I have dreamt of continues to end up in the arms of another. Everyone does encounter his or her high point. Nonetheless, have I missed mine? Never have I been so disarrayed and disordered. My cluttered sensations fail to add up properly in order to make my already flawless existence entirely picture-perfect. Or am I merely an emotional mockery?