Flawed

I hate it when you call me perfect.
      Would you like to know why?
            Because I know that nobody's perfect, no one could possible be perfect. That totally goes against human nature.

Right?

But nobody seems to believe that when I tell them.
           "Oh no," they explain, "You're the perfect child."

That's really funny.

Because when you call me perfect, I feel like I have to seek out my flaws, just to prove to you that I am indeed NOT perfect.

I don't think you know how hard it is to focus on your flaws all day, every day.

         I feel like I have to play up my flaws (although you promise I have none) to make you see what I can clearly make out when I look in a cloudy mirror:

Imperfection.

You'll never know how much it hurts me to have you constantly telling me how perfect my life is.

        Yeah. You tell me that I have the grades, the looks, the talent, the friends, the faith, the connectibility, the whatever.

That brings me to tears.
           And I know normal people wouldn't have that reaction. Any "normal" person would kill to be called perfect ONE time.

But that's the thing. I'm not normal.

      But do you know how I feel when I see people looking around, feeling threatened by my "perfect" presence?

Well I bet you don't.


     I feel hated, put down for the person I am.

And it saddens me to think that my life is perfect.

         Oh honey, you haven't seen the least of it.