I am not the definition of perfect.
I have scars on my thighs
from the nights I hated myself.
I have acne on my face
from the stress life throws at me.
I have bitten fingernails
from my nerves getting the best of me.
I have a pudgy stomach
from eating away my feelings.
I have calluses on my feet
from one too many practices.
I have pale skin
from being too insecure to go outside.
I have prickly legs sometimes
from just being too tired to shave.
I have chapped lips
from biting them too hard.
I have a broken heart
from a man I didn’t even know.
I am not the definition of perfect,
but that doesn’t mean I am not beautiful.