The Perfectionist

I’m afraid others see only
my anger and frustration,
the pain imperfection causes me,
                  and what must seem
like bottomless disappointment.

Those closest to me know best
the way injustice fuels my fire,
                  and how difficult it is
for me to resist unsheathing
the fine steel in my words.

Seeing the world
as it should be,
                  rather than as it is,
has hardened me,
drained my energy,
diminished the vibrancy
                  of what I could see,
and set me up to become
                  a cynical old man.

But this is not my fate and
not the invitation of my life.
My soul has another plan.

Now I pray daily
                  to be at peace in the world
                  to remember to breath steadily
                  to live in a posture of surrender.

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This poem was written on October 25, 2025.