How the hell could you pick me out of a crowd
and notice my crooked hairline
my slightly larger right eye
the scars on my arms
and call them perfectly beautiful
when all I can see are imperfections
that disgust me in the most painful of ways
because that's me, an imperfection
sadness written in bruises
and you know you can't fix it
but you're willing to try
but I promise one of us will get our hearts broken
because I'll ask you to stay forever
and you can't deal with it