I Am Me. But I Am Perfect.


My bones are fine china, delicate and breakable.

But my will is a diamond, passionate and brilliant.

My skin is worn, scarred and used.

But my body is a flower, bright and alive.

My teeth are crooked, stained and off-white.

But my smile is a sickness, contagious and infectious. 

My blood contains the universe and all of its miracles.

I have no need for filters as I am my own standard of perfection. 


This poem is about: 


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