There’s no such thing as perfect people – only perfect images. I never set out to be perfect. Why am I expected to be then? Average people make mistakes, No one gives a ****. I make a mistake, I’m persecuted for life. Second chances are unheard of. I’m doomed to that mistake. It becomes my identity, much more so than my name. Is the one who mocks me the one who said I was meant to be perfect? So, I was made by God in His likeness, somewhere in the journey I failed. Tell me I’m not alone in that. Perhaps that’s the one mistake we all have in common. My persecutor and I have the same affliction. If so – then how did a persecutor come about? I’ve come to find that perfection is just a ******** word. Perfect People? That’s ******** too. If we were all perfect, there would be no one to point out all of my mistakes. Persecutor, get behind me. Don’t waste my time rehashing things I’d rather forget. Become perfect like you expect me to be, and pray that I find my way out of darkness. Pray that you’ll have the decency to keep my darkness within. It’s so funny how imperfection always claims to know perfection. What’s imperfect will never know. That means, it never knew me from the start.