You're Not Perfect The Way You Are Poem by David Welch

I saw children playing soccer,
running around this way and that,
that in itself was no issue,
it was the parents who were bad.
They insisted there was 'no score, '
and that nobody there would ‘win, '
that all of this was just 'for fun, '
and other sorts of nonsense spin.
But the kids certainly kept score,
talked about it amongst themselves,
you could even see some upset
when they thought they weren't playing well.
Why structure a competition
if there's no stakes tied to the game?
You can exercise by yourself,
kids run around most of the day.
The point of cooperative games
is to prepare them for what comes,
to work with others and try hard,
and to succeed when all is done.
Sport wasn't made for their feelings,
there is a point when they all spar,
don't cheer on mediocrity,
they're not perfect the way they are.

I saw an artist's grand display
at a gallery some time back,
and of the crowd only I said
that talent the man sorely lacked.
A painted red circle, simple,
three blocks that he stacked off-centered,
four salt shakers painted orange,
a squished bug placed on a quarter,
though that last one might now have been
part of the display he had made,
yet still people moseyed throughout
and called it ‘powerful' and ‘brave.'
I laughed and said, ‘You waste my time,
there is nothing artistic here.
go back and look at old masters,
at least they had skill in their weird.'
Some claimed I was a ‘phillistine, '
just ‘too simple to understand, '
that art did not need beauty, no,
but I dismissed them out of hand.
to attract a man's attention,
to put a claim upon his time,
Ii has to be something profound,
that rewards delights the mind.
But to excuse such laziness,
to call ‘art' such sheer ugliness…
does no favors to him or me,
and makes lazy all our artists.
There's no greatness without hard work,
skill is needed to make a star,
don't enable our worst aspects,
we're not perfect the way we are.

I saw a woman, quite obese,
making videos on the net,
declaring, ‘Big is beautiful! '
(Though I've not seen such a one yet.)
She proclaimed that she was quite proud
at her quite immense body-weight,
that no one should ever feel shame,
and that everything was just great.
I supposed I could keep quiet
if it just effected herself,
but how does one ignore that she
wants to snare others in that hell?
When in truth it is not okay,
and she probably will die young,
Trying to doom others to that?
Tell me what part of that is fun?
Not to mention the loneliness
that undoubtedly does await,
just to be clear, men don't want that,
all but a few will stay away.
And those few who might fetishize
these women morbidly obese,
there's wires crossed within their minds,
and like these girls are not healthy.
To make excuses for all this,
to make your life short and quite hard…
we're better off saying the truth:
You're not perfect the way you are.

I saw a person who blathered,
said, ‘I'm beyond morality,
good and evil are simply lies,
more people should be just like me.'
He passed it off as very smart,
and liked to quote Nietzsche a lot,
but when I saw how he behaved
it came off as a lot of rot.
The man never could give a dime,
said, ‘Leave that to the government.'
couldn't stay faithful to a girl,
went wherever his hormones went.
Spent his time drinking or at play,
only worked enough to get by,
said, ‘Why would I think of family?
Don't you know it's just a big lie? '
So swept up in nihilism,
but from the outside it was clear,
he wasn't smart or ‘beyond good, '
just mired in an endless fear.
As long as he blathered this stuff
then he didn't have to feel bad,
didn't have to look at his life,
or compare it to his rich dad,
Didn't have to risk falling short,
or be the failure he feared he was,
his fancy words because his shield,
to make folks think he had ‘a cause.'
Honestly it was all BS,
his soul is every day more burned,
no one wants to call out his crap,
so from real life he still does turn.
One can do good despite the flaws,
can still stand up despite the scars,
would he try if he understood
we're not perfect the way we are?

Is not the point in the trying?
Does not the hard work make us whole?
Real perfection may not exist,
but the concept gives us a goal.
A lighthouse by which we can steer,
a marker we can measure by,
to not keep pushing for that point
is to stagnate and slowly die.
Why should we allow our culture
to encourage this laziness,
when we tell people ‘don't improve'
we condemn them to emptiness,
A life of knowing nothing great,
of achieving nothing sublime,
this self-esteem crap they all sell
in the end is cruel and malign.
It's the effort that makes you great,
it's the journey that takes you far,
to realize greatness you must know:
You're not perfect the way you are.

Keep improving.