You don’t know it
But an addict you are.

Your set perceptions
Of a woman, thus far.

Fit, athletic and slim
Not a muscle out of tone

Your projection is powerful
On each one of us alone.

Yet sadly for you
It leaves you adrift

In a fairy tale land
Full of quagmire and mist.

For no woman on earth
Can match your vision

Trapped like a moth in a net
We wither in derision.

Your impossible standards
Which you spread far and wide

Whilst remaining a mess
You yourself; you hide.

Your addiction to perfection
Kills all love in the end.

Hopes fade fast
Even round that last bend.

© Angela Dunning, 12 October 2014

Footnote
The title of this poem is inspired by the title of Marion Woodman’s excellent book, Addicted to Perfection; a must read for all women.

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