We Strive for utmost perfection
As defined by our machines
Always instant, always precise, always superior
Our hands can't even compare
Held at such high standard
How can we live up
Our art, our pitch, our beauty
quantified against a scale
If we remove all imperfection
What is left to love
What quirks, what secrets, what wonders
By which we are defined
The world has no carbon copies
Each leaf a different shape
All people, all places, all creation
Uniqueness in where they stand
Whats wrong with slightly slanted
Whats wrong with being true
No touch-ups, no edits, no filters
to mask our world from view
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