“Not Perfect” by Tim Minchin

This song. Ye Gods, this song didn’t just speak to me. It came at me like a 18 wheeler with no breaks and a madman behind the wheel. After the first listen, I had to sit with my feelings for a minute before I could put words to the emotions that were going supernova inside of me. It’s effect, after I let my feelings take over, was that of a tsunami crashing over unsuspecting islands, devastating everything in its path. I was completely overcome with how much it resonated with me.

The parts that hit me the most were the parts about the brain and the body, especially the line “I spend so much time hating it/ But it never says a bad word about me”. Even now, I am having trouble containing the tears just thinking about it because I spend so much time hating my body and my brain that was made by the Gods that I love so dearly. I don’t usually let myself feel the emotion (hate), but I can’t stop myself from feeling the hatred that burns within me for the body I feel caged in and for the brain that will never function normally without the aid of antidepressants. This is something I can’t control, this deep-rooted hatred, for my own physical self. So, to hear “It’s not perfect, but it’s mine” in a song rocked my world. Having someone tell you that, yes, your body isn’t perfect; it never will be, but it’s yours, and you should love it for what it is, not for what it isn’t or what you perceive it should be… It’s indescribable.

Yes, I still hate my body; that hasn’t changed, but I think the whole point is to learn to own things as they are. This body is my body, and no matter how much I hate it, it will still be my body. My brain is my brain. These things will always be mine, and I need to come to terms with that. There is no magic that will change this fact. Learning how to come to terms with this is a difficult proposition, but I think I need to try. How else can I grow?

I have added the lyrics below. I do hope you enjoy it as much as I did. It’s a gorgeous song with a gorgeous message, especially since the artist usually doesn’t sing songs of this nature. Anyways, please enjoy.

This is my Earth, and I live in it
It’s one third dirt and two thirds water
And it rotates and revolves through space
At rather an impressive pace
And never even messes up my hair
And here’s the really weird thing
The force created by it’s spin
Is the force that stops the chaos flooding in

This is my Earth, and it’s fine
It’s where I spend the vast majority of my time
It’s not perfect, but it’s mine
It’s not perfect

This is my house, and I live in it
It’s made of cracks and photographs
We rent it off a guy who bought it from a guy
Who bought it from a guy
Whose granddad left it to him
And the weirdest thing is that this house
Has locks to keep the baddies out
But they’re mostly used to lock ourselves in

This is my house, and it’s fine
It’s where I spend a vast majority of my time
It’s not perfect, but it’s mine
It’s not perfect, but it’s mine

This is my body, and I live in it
It’s thirty-five and six months old
It’s changed a lot since it was new
It’s done stuff it wasn’t built to do
I often try to fill it up with wine
And the weirdest thing about it is
I spend so much time hating it
But it never says a bad word about me

This is my body, and it’s fine
It’s where I spend a vast majority of my time
It’s not perfect, but it’s mine
It’s not perfect

This is my brain, and I live in it
It’s made of love and bad song lyrics
It’s tucked away behind my eyes
Where all my fucked up thoughts can hide
‘Cause God forbid I hurt somebody
And the weird thing about a mind
Is that every answer that you find
Is the basis of a brand new cliche

This is my brain, and it’s fine
It’s where I spend a vast majority of my time
It’s not perfect, but it’s mine
It’s not perfect, but it’s mine
It’s not perfect
I’m not quite sure I’ve worked out how to work it
It’s not perfect, but it’s mine
But it’s mine

A Will Not Her Own

Queen of the Waiting Ones

Crown with pink pearls

The Queen acts not from the root of ego, for her will is not merely hers. Instead, she embodies the collective will of those Whom she serves.  Even the royal form is not her own, for it is made to house the power of the Crown.

A vessel, to be filled, and to be channeled through, she is.  Joining Heaven and Earth by the Holy Powers’ whim.  And if she would dare to flee, those same Holy Powers will bring her to her knees.

There is no choice; some must don the purple, or they must die.  But the Fates only know whether death comes quick, or from lingering time.  A Queen is a servant, above all else, and must serve to the fullest to preserve her good health.

Her health is the nation’s, whatever it may be, whether consisting of small spirits, or unknown Divinities.  Yes, a Court has…

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