I hate being called perfect.
I hate that people only see me for my skin.
I am not perfect.
My life is not perfect.
My body is not perfect.
I am so far from it.
So do not call me perfect.
If you actually tried to crack me open,
even in the slightest,
you would see a horror story.
YOU ARE READING
I Find Myself in Words
PoetryOriginal poetry about everything. Beauty, pain, life, death... Enjoy - 💙 ~Complete~