I could not look myself in the mirror.
I could not hear what was true.
I did not feel what others saw.
Nothing but imperfect, I was flawed.
All my actions seemed so wrong.
Words were faulty,
always feeling so spurious.
Nothing but inferior, I was flawed.
Even laughter seemed I taint.
Causing the ending of something.
What was my wrongdoing I asked?
Nothing but second-rate, I was flawed.
The dysmorphia of my mind,
ruined and disfigured all the cues.
Misread my world around.
I was not faulty, not unsubstantial!
The filters were jaded,
the jagged edges,
tore the truth as it passed by.
I stand looking at,
all that time swallowed.
Misinformed, my thoughts failed.
Never was I flawed.
I cannot turn off that filter,
my disconnect too strong.
Though my mind may understand,
my spirit still feels the pain.
Can I ever rip it off?
Untruth, all of my shame?
Moving forward I see the light,
but the lie still remains.
I am flawed, but still perfect.
Aren’t we all?
No perfection can one hold,
it is good to be flawed.