Magnificent

What’s the cruelest whisper?

Strive for perfect.

It hums from billboards,

flickers in screens,

coats idle chatter

with a sterile gleam.

Yet every star worth chasing

ignites in chaos,

swirling dust,

untamed gravity,

no blueprint in the blaze.

We hunt better,

steps tracked, flaws mapped,

a race toward a vanishing line.

A deaf child clasped a piano,

teaching silence to sing.

A girl, stitched by steel,

dragged her fractured spine

across canvas, history paused.

A scientist, stilled,

blinked at a cursor;

it wove black-hole hymns.

A singer, scarred,

let cracks carve the song.

None perfect,

all fiercely

magnificent.

So shed the polished lies,

the chase for flawless shine.

Wear your scars like emblems,

freckles like galaxies,

mistakes like hidden keys.

Be magnificent,

not perfect.

You nod,

reach for a ruler

to align the words.

Chaos hums.

A star is born.

FSF