Don't Talk About Perfection
By Elizabeth Kaplunov, age 16

My hair is twisted. My vocal chords are torn
The notes are scribbled over. This music piece lacks tone
Don't talk to about the rhythm. Forget about the rhyme,
My head is full of thoughts, yet none of them are mine
My hands are trembling badly, I just got out of bed,
My clothes smell of smoke. Well, what did you expect?

This poem criticises an aspect of the modern culture.