When I looked at her

in the mirror,

everything was dull

and everyday uglier;

those strands were

always imperfect,

and that face

always had marks.


The more I turned

the pages,

The more I found

those imperfections

in that face,

The face made me

always hide,

my true self.


After enough days

of darkness,

that I kept myself

confined to;

I realized eventually

That everything about

that face,

was mine.


I embraced the

happy strands,

and found the radiance

beneath the dullness,

the marks revealing

their glow;

and ultimately

it was my imperfections

that I accepted and said to the face…

An imperfect you

makes me much happier,

Than a false

perfect version of you.





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