Perfect

Is there something wrong with you?
A loose screw or two that ruined your ability to function?
Why are you always so tired?
Your life is uninspired and small; all you do is sprawl on the couch
with outstretched limbs like a sloth in slow-motion.
Where is your devotion to succeed, Maia?
Did it drift out your window with the smoke from your weed?
Do I need to force feed you discipline ‘til you finally concede?
I cook and I clean and I don't stop ‘til the soles of my feet bleed.
But I'm fine.
I'm perfect.
Be perfect, Maia.
Be perfect like me.

Stop wearing those god awful ripped pants
and that lipstick like a whore with double-d implants.
You only get one chance.
Stop acting like a cat with nine lives left.
Stop committing yourself to songs and stories and spoken slam bullshit
in a world where degrees and PhD's impede the need for poetry.
And stop chewing on your nails.
No wonder you've never attracted any males.
Why do you do that? Do you like the taste? Are they sweet?
You can't eat sweets, Maia.
You're ruining your teeth like you're ruining your life.
My teeth are perfect. Clean and pristine.
They gleam like the golden halo above my perfectly conditioned head.
I don't need sugar, Maia.
I am above sugar.

Why are you down here, Maia?
Why are you down here when you need to be up here?
Up here with the ones who have a promising career
Who listen when information goes in one ear
and doesn't come out the other.
You'll never be up here, Maia.
You act as if the act of listening is a crime
or you would have heard me the six hundred and sixty-sixth time
I told you to STOP CHEWING ON YOUR NAILS.
Stop chewing on your nails like a goddamn piece of trash.
You can't be trash, Maia.
You have to be perfect.
Be perfect like me.

I get up at 5 in the morning every day.
I start my day the same way worried that I'll collapse
as my bones start to decay from cleaning up your scraps.
Why is your room such a mess?
The clothes go in the hamper, Maia.
Not displayed on your bed like your lack of morals.
Not littered on the floor collecting more dust than my withered expectations.
You disregard my rules with stubborn contempt
in a substandard attempt at teenage rebellion.
But you can't be a rebel, Maia.
You're not interesting enough.
You need to obey and say 'yes' and 'okay'
You need to do it with a smile on your less than average face.
You need to try harder, Maia.
Make it wider, Maia.
Why don't you know how to smile?

You disappoint me, Maia.
You never appreciate what I do for you.
You never try to be a winner.
And you never eat your dinner.
You never eat the dinner I consistently provide for you
as I constantly remind you of the life I set aside for you.
That meal doesn't pay for itself.
I don't care if it's ideal, stop telling me how you feel.
You need to eat it.
Eat it all.
Eat it at a reasonable time with a glass of milk.
You need milk, Maia.
You need calcium like you need a catalyst for growth.
You'll never grow to be tall.
Be tall like me.
I drink my milk, Maia.
Drink your fucking milk.
Be tall.
Be perfect.
Be perfect like me.

You need to pay more attention, Maia.
Stop daydreaming, Maia.
Stop staring at the ceiling as if your one redeeming quality lies hidden in the plaster.
You need to organize your life.
Your life is a disaster
Just like your room.
Just like your teeth.
Just like your future,
Which will soon come to an end if you don't put down that pen.
You need to stop writing, Maia.
Your life is not a book.
Don't give me that look, Maia.
I'm just trying to help you.
I'm just trying to love you.
I'm just trying to love you.
You have to let me love you
so that you can be perfect.
Be perfect like me.

by Maia Mayor

Comments (4)

Rightly said, and wisely too
The purpose of poetry is to remind us how difficult it is to remain just one person, for our house is open, there are no keys in the doors, and invisible guests come in and out at will. Great work of art of poem
Czeslaw Milosz died 14 August 2004, he also translated Bible...
excellent! a masterpiece! keep writing! could you read and comment on my poems too? thank you.