“Oh, they’re perfect,” and swoon,

Swept up over the moon.

Not realized.. 

Perceived blessings

Disguised curses

Of filled purses,

Cameras for familiar faces, curtailed.

Red on sidewalks,

Where blood once spilled.

Now the carpet’s rolled out…

You don’t belong here.

Step aside from perfection,

You’ll ruin the shot… be gone.

A loved face, 

Made anonymous.

There’s no perfect, 

Just whether you can handle 

The luggage and travel carry-on,

Plus, wait in darkness without a candle.

Better keep up with the itinerary,

You’ll be left behind, solitary.

“Contracts… sorry hunny. 

See you next year, when it’s sunny.”

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This free-written poem is about the phenomenon of how people think celebrities are perfect. They create some strange unrealistic ideal of what fame is like. They believe an image presented to them, without using any type of critical thinking. When I see or hear people say some “celebrity” is perfect, it makes me laugh. 

I wonder what it is that seems “perfect” to them? Fame? Money? Influence? Power? Lust for the curated character? 

What about the famous people? There’s a reason for the saying: stay in your league. Worrying about a non-influential person’s feelings can hinder creative success. If they are lustful for anything that is a result of the fame, they’ll mangle your name. Still in pursuit of why they wanted you in the first place.