I'm pushing for perfection, yet breaking at the seams. The swelling tide of this french puff pastry is light and airy as i strive for a lighter, less doughy me. But everytime the horizon is in view i give up. The gusts of wind that swell my sails, leading me towards the edges of my imagination break and with them my taught ropes fall flat and wither. I am left the same as before, perhaps even heavier and duller. And yet i pretend that i will try again, as vain and useless the attempt is as it was before, i still pretend to try. And again i crash in upon that sea, the sea that has become my tears as if they are an alice-in-wonderland portrayal of my fantasies. When will we look as we are instead of as we're made? or maybe that's just the way it is--- the reason behind it all. And so i'll swim again in this briny sea and look for my own white rabbit, although i know it is too late. The dress wont fit from the cookies that said "eat me" as i willingly obliged and now i sift through the rancor of the tattered toys left behind from the shifting dollhouse that once was me.
