Perfectionism is the Perfectionist's First Mistake

The sky strikes midnight.

Staring at the blank slate,

No thoughts to think,

No words to paint,

You sit, paralyzed.

The only sound is of

Your heart beating to

The ticking rain.

A crack in the window

Lets in the wind

And rouses

The panic within.

Where to begin when

I don’t know the end?

Which road to take,

If not the one taken?

Who do I want to be,

What image do

I want to portray?

What are the risks?

There’s no room for mistake.

Mistakes are wallowing inside

When the sun is bright,

Not tripping on the lawn

And scraping your knee.

Mistakes are guarding your heart

From unfavorable results,

Not risking love

And getting hurt.

Mistakes are sitting on the sidelines

And watching your team play,

Not playing your heart out

And losing the game.

Life is not a mistake.

So when the rain stops,

At the first sign of light,

Do me a favor and

Go fly your f**king kite.

But until then,

Before you say goodnight,

Pick up your pen and

Draw the first line

To take you one step closer

To the unknown end.

(Though, as we know, the end

Is also the beginning,

And the cuts and bruises

You earned along the way

Will help you win

The next time you play).