Perfect/Imperfect

Smokey monsters in the air,
They occupy the minutest space,
They sit on the plate beside your food,
They hang themselves on your wet towel,
They want to take that night gown off,
They want you to glitter your best,
They want you to shine perfectly.

The perfection once wished for
Seems like an abominable thought.
To be imperfect is so much more peaceful.
These imposing monsters claim perfection.
But this, will they ever get?

Imposition breeds rebellion.
They are their own defeat.