Inspired by Chapter 202

Imperfection

I am perfect.

I have been tailored and stitched, sewed and mended to be the perfect hybrid, the perfect player, the perfect human being. I am perfect.

My face is compared among the gods, my hair individual threads of gold. I am glamorous and I am gorgeous. I am perfect.

My legs are strong, and my arms are steady. I am balanced and I am beautiful. I am perfect.

My head is smart, but my lips speak words of innocence. My eyes can see; my eyes can study. I am perfect.

But I am not. I am not perfect. That is not me.

The blood that flows through my veins is not perfect in any way. It is the way that my veins curl and bend that produces flawless movements. Even so, they do not belong to me.

They are borrowed. They are etched. They make me perfect.

But I am not. I am not perfect.

I am broken, but I am trying. I smile through my tears, because it makes me beautiful. It is all I want.

I want to be perfect.

But I am not. I am not perfect.

I am just a copy, a small collection of those that surround me.

They are the perfect ones. Not me.

Just a short poem to express all of my feelings right now, because I am drowning in them, dear Lord.

- Chappy