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CP Jun 2014
I don't want to be perfect
What an incorrect prospect
I like my defect
At least I'm not an object

My eyes do not resemble suns
My words are more like guns
Aimed at your sons
I've only just begun

My hair is not soft and fine
You simply cannot define
Or enshrine
Standby and do not whine

My thoughts are not innocent and pure
Nothing is secure
But I am certainly not your saviour
My behaviour brings danger
I am not your entertainer

My hands are not are not flowers
I have different powers
Which devours and towers
Over your mouth as he cowers

Nature is not just beautiful
And neither am I
How dare you belittle it with unsuitable lies
Save your goodbyes
I am not your demise, that would be unwise
Do you not realise I have a disguise?

I am not  perfect
Yet you could never recreate and resurrect my imperfections
Save your affections
I need to find my own directions, away from your infectious reflections

— The End —