She is not a preplanned list
Or a recipe of perfection.

She is not a dictionary of
Adjectives or an inventory of
The most beautiful things that designs
A flawless human being.

She is not a checklist
Of qualities that makes her
An exception.

She is raw and flawed.

She has emotions that makes
Her unique.

She is like the broken tiles
That is used to create an artwork.

She is a rain day
That forms a glorious, and
Vibrant rainbow.

She is the mud
That sustains the growth
Of gorgeous flowers.

She is a mushroom
That grows in the wilderness.

She is an old blanket
That warms my heart on a
Cold day.

She is imperfect
But that is what makes her whole and
That is what makes her, her.

And I love her
Twice as much for it.