The older I get, the more I realize just how flawed I am. I'm too emotionally needy, too clingy, too dependent on praise from others, I'm hypocritical, too much of a perfectionist about some things and not enough about others, I'm too serious, I'm a rather boring conversationalist, I lack the confidence to even attempt to go after the things I really want, I procrastinate incredibly badly, I'm very unpunctual, and I'm overly sensitive to the point that lost baby animals, children's movies, Hallmark commercials, and yes, sometimes even cheesy romances can make my eyes well up. The more I realize the mulitude of imperfections I have been cursed with, the more I wonder just how many more exist. Everyone has flaws, but it seems as though I keep obtaining new ones each and every day. Perhaps it comes from what my parents would call maturity. However, if maturity means realizing that everyday I become less and less of an efficient, ideal person and more and more of a hopelessly flawed individual destined for failure, then maybe it would be better to remain ignorant and immature.

The more I see how flawed I am, the more I wonder if it's possible for me to achieve anything. I realize that now there are so many more opportunities for me, so many things I want to do and see and experience, but I often question whether or not I have to ability to accomplish them. I have a limited capacity for knowledge, and my procrastination and the fact that I am easily distracted detract me even more from what I someday hope to accomplish. I'm 20 years old and have yet to attempt to even plan to do anything notable or worthy of praise. I realize that all of this is of such little importance right now, regardless, it's the only thing floating through my mind. That fact alone shows just how much I lack. I can't even concentrate on the things that really matter in the present because of those that really don't.

And now, a poem:

My Cocoon tightens - Colors teaze-
I'm feeling for the Air-
A dim capacity for Wings
Demeans the Dress I wear-

A power of Butterfly must be-
The Aptitude to fly
Meadows of Majesty implies
And easy Sweeps of Sky-

So I must baffle at the Hint
And cipher at the Sign
And make much blunder, if at last
I take the clue divine-

-Emily Dickinson