Imperfectly Perfect

We spend our whole lives trying to be special As infants we cry for attention and As teens we cry for no reason at all Sometimes it feels as though we speak a language only our minds can understand We spend years feeling alone and “misunderstood” Mirrors become a battleground for the attacking inner voices Reality becomes less distinguishable A fear sets in “Who am I?” Panicked by uncertainty we hide behind masks The rebel, the hippy, the jock Now more lost than before we break Feeling naked and vulnerable We stare at our spotted skin through puffy eyes Then a wave of clarity shocks our senses A laugh escapes a pair of thin pink lips Who am I? Who we are is not the refection in a mirror But what we choose to see