I am infected with my own imperfection
That nauseates me
Turns my limbs to rubber or perhaps Jello
It is a common cold to which there is no antidote
Only syrups that mask the symptoms
And as millions sneeze and cough up
Their faults and failures and fallibility
It never occurs to them
That it's unhealthy
But I know that imperfection is a weakness that cannot go unpunished