I always question my Creator,
My Father and my Mother
for making an imperfect being

Pretending to be blissful,
but often grieving within
"O wretched me ", immersed in pain

Born with a conquering heart
but never able to conquer

On the game field
this little heart burns as of a champion
but gives up easily in others eyes

Yearning to make a difference
but never able to

The imperfect soul is sobbing for a day
when he with his creator's help
will change the world's perspective

That losers are bound to lose,
not knowing, a loser falls to rise.

Imperfect was I born until this day
but there will be a day when
I will rise from the ashes

through Him which strengthens me
and assert "I-m-perfect"