Something Less than Perfect

It claws at your soul, rakes holes in your heart, and leaves lasting scars in the place of memories. What is this thing, this wild creature of sorrow and hatred? Surely, it is something less than perfect.

It is an enemy. You have known it all your life, yet, for some reason, have never been able to fully understand it, nor have you been able to dispell it. It hooks onto your back and stays there, whispering in your ear, reminding you that you are something less than perfect.

It is always there, waiting for the right moment to strike. Whenever you stumble, it watches, chuckling. It replays those moments over and over again, until your mind is swimming with embarrassment and guilt.

Shame.

That is its name. Always watching, always whispering. Always telling you that your world is something less than perfect.