Pursuit of Perfection

I can do everything.
At least I tell myself that I can.
When people ask more from me I give it to them.
Of course I can do that,
I can do anything I set my mind to.
I can do it all and then I can break.
In private I break,
I tear myself apart,
Focus on what I can not control.
I have over extended myself again
Why must I peruse this warped version of perfection?
Face to face I am making it.
I am doing it all.
Internally I am not even satisfactory.
All this pressure that I inflict punches me in the stomach, shortens each breath until I cannot breath, sends my mind in a spiral.
Panic! Panic! Panic!