I have a boundless amount of imperfections,
And I confess them, profess them,
Reveal them, show their stem,
And for that I'm condemned;
Viewed as ugly, terrible, unbearable,
Seen as bizarre, out-so-far, marred...
But wouldn't you say I'm perfect in a way?
You hide your flaws, keep them from day.
Yet I pay, because I WILL say,
What flaws in me lay.