Why do I have to be the one with the most imperfect face?
Oh, if I just had a prettier one.
Why do I have to have pest moles on my back?
Oh, if only someone knew, they make me so insecure.
Why am I so careless about life sometimes?
Oh, I hate that about myself.
Why me?

Why did I have to make those stupid, immature mistakes?
Oh, if only I could’ve known what I know now.
Why doesn’t my body have an hour glass figure like hers?
Oh, if I could only have a smaller waist.
Why can’t I ever feel good enough sometimes?
Oh, if only someone knew my inner demons.
Why me?

Because it isn’t me.

I am not the one with the most imperfect face.
Because I believe my face is absolutely stunning.
I do have pest moles on my back.
And I love them because they make me, me.
I am careless about life sometimes.
But, I live, I learn, and I most importantly grow.
I have made stupid, immature mistakes.
But my mistakes have made me imperfectly perfect.
My body doesn’t have an hour glass figure like hers.
And I don’t care because I’m confident with my body.
I don’t feel good enough sometimes.
Regardless of doubts, I know I will always be good enough.

That’s me.