I walk in the shadows of the girls with the flowing hair and the perfectly concealed eyes. against them I am a mess with tangled knots and gray bags hanging low to show that I have stayed up for too long listening to the voices in my head. my weight is composed of a thousand words that will never be spoken, for I am too afraid of saying the wrong thing. Don't lie and tell me that you can detect no visible imperfections because that is not what I want to look like. All over I want to be the tangled knots and graying bags and I want to prove that you don't have to measure up to society's standards to be beautiful. I want to be so inevitably flawed that you cannot help but stare at how real I look. I know I am an incurable wreck, but that is what I aim to be. I want to be labeled as beautiful not because of the shade of lipstick I might wear, but because of the growing passion in my heart. I am a whirlwind of good intentions but bad executions, but at the end of the day I can promise you that you will never find an imperfect person that could love as perfectly as I do