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
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