My hair has split ends.
My eyes look like mud.
My body has scars.
And I don't say "Amen."
You ask what I think of myself
And I hesitate.
But then you ask if I have flaws.
I answer, "Why, yes, I'm perfect."
You say that's not what you asked
But I say, "Your flaws make you perfect;
The more you have, the 'perfecter' you are."
Why, yes, I'm perfect.
Don't you think you are too?