i am fine
as heaven..
it's spelt upon my bones
with the safest flesh upon em
i feel it gazing into the mirror
then i whisper my kisses
as i adore and marvel..
....."this is perfected.."

the imperfectionist is you
look at what you've done

you broke me so well
i see the pieces in my eyes
weighing from my beaten heart
as i comfort my left cheek
with my right palm..
i want to write about you
..like my ego were yours

If it's old, or if it breaks,
Don't think twice, throw it away.
Bigger, better, nicer, newer,
Tablets, phones, and computers.
Houses, cars, husbands and wives,
Nothing's good enough
in our disposable lives.

We're taught to hate imperfect things,
Taught to replace and throw away,
Taught to wish for better,
Never settle for less,
Our disposable world
Accepts only the best.

And we wonder why
We're ashamed of our flaws
And why we're insecure
But it might be because
Our disposable world
Says we're not good enough
So what should be pride
Turns into disgust.

We are worth so much more
Than all items combined
We were born good enough
But we fall for these lies.

We aren't mass produced,
We are one of a kind.
So the disposable world rules
Do not apply.

you came to me broken
little do you know
you were the pieces i was looking for

I walk in the shadows of the girls with the flowing hair and the perfectly concealed eyes. against them I am a mess with tangled knots and gray bags hanging low to show that I have stayed up for too long listening to the voices in my head. my weight is composed of a thousand words that will never be spoken, for I am too afraid of saying the wrong thing. Don't lie and tell me that you can detect no visible imperfections because that is not what I want to look like. All over I want to be the tangled knots and graying bags and I want to prove that you don't have to measure up to society's standards to be beautiful. I want to be so inevitably flawed that you cannot help but stare at how real I look. I know I am an incurable wreck, but that is what I aim to be. I want to be labeled as beautiful not because of the shade of lipstick I might wear, but because of the growing passion in my heart. I am a whirlwind of good intentions but bad executions, but at the end of the day I can promise you that you will never find an imperfect person that could love as perfectly as I do

To my dear poems,
Although you're close to me, I will no longer strive for perfection with you
For I believe the raw emotions and imperfections make you beautiful and I am too in love with your flaws
The scraps of paper with scribbled words
Coffee stained napkins where sudden inspiration hit
Temporary words on palms
And unlike mine, I love your scars
You let my heart speak without a filter and the more perfection I force upon you by replacing words and rewording my pain,
it becomes nothing more than a never ending game,
making me obsessed about your appearance, I end up with useless words that make not a difference.
So instead of giving you hours, I will give you each a piece of myself and I know it will remain safe with you.
From your imperfect writer

I am far from perfect
As far from perfect as I am from you

I am tall
More over im intimidating and imposing, it just means I have further to fall

I am not at all bright
Lacking common sense I can never see the answer written in plain sight

I have a massive heart
Its worn on my sleeve. Vulnerable to everything, forever abused and falling. apart

I am far from perfect,
As far from it as I am to *you