The mess I call me, the broken fragments that begin to mend like a medley;
Not perfect, not petite; sometimes happy, sometimes in need.
My thoughts consume & cloud my eyes,
Though sometimes I can see clearly through my own disguise.
My days are bright, though my days seem never ending;
My nights get dark, sometimes too dark to feel God’s mending.
My eyes sparkle; sometimes with light, sometimes with tears,
But my eyes are full of love –just don’t let the Devil near.
My world gets hectic, some days it’s hard to see,
But I was made to be loved & to be imperfectly me.