I went through a long period of time where I wouldn't write any poetry because I was scared it wouldn't be good enough. I didn't write, I didn't draw, I did nothing, because it felt like it wasn't worth doing if I wouldn't be the best at it. I've worked on coming to terms with the fact that I will not always be the best, and that I don't have to be perfect to be worth it. I've started to learn that anything worth doing is worth doing half-assed. I don't believe it every day. Some days, it is hard to get out of bed from the weight of expectations and the creaking of my bones. I should not be this kind of tired at 14, I tell myself, but it does nothing to ease the soreness of my mind. This poem is about my struggle to overcome my perfectionism, and I hope it can shine a light on others in a similar situation as I am.