I can spend hours trying to think of the most cliché beautiful lines in hopes that someone will quote me one day, but the reality of that is it isn’t me.
I don’t speak in a poetic kind of way that makes people’s hearts melt, that’s not me.
I swear, I yell and I complain about the same shit everyone else does. I angrily turn off my alarm in the morning and I’m useless before I’ve had my coffee. Working out in the morning is more of a chore than something I enjoy so most of the time I don’t get out of bed to do it because I just don’t care enough. I’m not a good cook and I wouldn’t make a great housewife. I can go through and point out of every flaw I have, but no one would care enough to read that.
I am so far from perfect, because you know what? Perfect doesn’t exist in my mind.
Honestly, I hate getting dressed up. I’d way rather wear a hoodie and jeans out of the house and not care if people think I look like a bum. I hate spending hours trying to figure out what outfit I’m going to wear out to the bar because half the time everyone is too drunk to even realize what you’re wearing anyway. I hate how much my feet hurt in heels and I’ll always take them off on the walk home because I don’t care how put together I look at that point.
Perfection might not exist, or so we claim, but instead we just have these made up standards from the media of how we should look or act or dress.
You can’t be too loud because everyone will think you’re obnoxious, but you can’t be too quiet because then everyone will think you’re upset about something. Females can’t have too much muscle because it’s gross, but seriously, you have a little pudge in your shirt? Ew. How fucked up is that?! I mean really, people claim there is no such thing as perfect, but if you’re too much or too little of everything you get judged. If you don’t follow the mainstream trends, you’re not in.
It’s complete and total bullshit, and to be honest I just don’t care anymore.
I don’t care about being perfect, I am far from it and I’ve never been one to pretend I’m something I’m not. I’ll rock the messy bun every day if I feel like it. I’ll wear sweatpants out of the house if I’m comfortable and don’t want to change. I won’t put on makeup if I’m not going anywhere important. And I’ll never starve myself to avoid looking “bloated” on the weekend.
Perfect has never been a word I’ve used in my vocabulary.
I’ve fucked up a lot and I’ve fucked up big.
I’ve never been perfect and I never will. And not being perfect is amazing to me. I don’t have these ridiculously high and classy standards, I’m not in the spotlight and hopefully I never will be.
I’m good with living a normal, low-key, kind of lifestyle. I’m good with having fun and fucking up. I’m good with learning from my mistakes, or doing it better next time around to not get caught.
I’m good with breaking the rules and doing things that are frowned upon because in all reality, that is where the true magic is. It’s when you’re worried you’re about to get caught, it’s the thrill that makes you feel alive and it’s the on top of the world ending when you get away with something.
Perfect is fucking boring.
I don’t need glitz and glamour, I don’t need expensive shit to show off and I sure as hell don’t need perfection in my life because if my life was perfect I can promise you I wouldn’t have had any where near the amount of fun I’ve had in my life. Perfect is boring, living outside the lines is fun.