Looking in the mirror at the imperfection that is me.
I know nobody's perfect,
But nobody is as imperfect as me.
My stomach bulges out,
See the fat on my thighs?
My hair never looks right,
My nails are always uneven and breaking.
I wouldn't say I'm dying to be thin,
Or aching to be perfect.
But just to be accepted would be great.
Laughed at or talked behind my back,
I hate it all.
Fat or chubby or whatever you want to call me,
I'll always be this imperfection that is me.
If I lost weight or fixed my hair nice,
Would it make a difference to you?
What is your definition of my perfection?
You make fun of me saying mean things,
I try not to care but it hurts.
Even though I'm not yet happy with the way I look and act.
I can fix that.
I might be an imperfect vision to you,
But soon enough,
I'll be the best me.
Maybe not your perfect vision,
Maybe not mine either,
But soon enough I'll look into the mirror
And stand in front of the almost perfect vision,
That I'll try to be.

 
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