Pretty
James had always been the pretty one. He liked the fact that he was the pretty one, but it was such a burden on him. He had to be physically perfect and with perfection comes more perfection. He had to be constantly adjusting himself to the newest trends and the newest clothing lines. It was tiresome, but the fame that came from it was worth the fight.
At least he thought that until he met up with Kendall Knight and the speeches that he could give. He understood that he did not have to have the perfect looks to get past his own deceit. But that was the thing that he had going for him the most, the looks. They were only attractive to everyone, but after that it was over. He was the literal level.
He did not reach the allegorical, tropological, or even the anagogical levels of existence. Now James of course did not know the fancy words that came from these ideas, but he knew enough that he had to be more perfect than everyone else. It became a constant competition with himself to keep himself going at the top.
He despised that part of it; there was more to it than others gave him credit for. They always thought that if you were good-looking than every thing must have been easy. That was so much of the opposite that James could not explain anything to them that he felt on the topic. They would never understand anything about it.
He so wanted to perfect, but what was perfection? What was it to James at least? Was it a society standard that he could never shake off? No, that was not it. Was it an individual choice? Yes. Everything about perfection comes from the person's own choice. That is the nature of the game that it brings. It is a very existentialist thing to think about. One must remove themselves from the compact going on around them to see it clearly. Can James even see it from that position? Or is there a unlimited amount of deeper and deeper positions that he could view it from?
This would make perfection impossible for him. James realized this error very quickly and began to let the fear of failure set it. It came upon him like a pack of ravenous wolves chewing upon the bones of forgotten flesh. The flesh that crumbles like a monument eventually, all things lose their beauty at times.
This is the literal level of beauty. The allegorical level would see it as a metaphor that all things eventually crumble. Tropological level sees it as change within oneself. And the last sees it as a constant that no one understand other than One. These levels are what frustrated James to the point of no belief other than his own perfection. The true be told is that all people have their own perfection.
James just had to realized that he could it shape rather than let it control it. He could control it.
A's N: This one was the best so far in my opinion. I hope that all of you read the poems I put forward as well. Look up the levels if you did understand them and reread it. It'll make more sense that way. Please review or comment to me as always. Thank you for reading.