Sometimes I look in the mirror
And don’t like what I see
My external self is so changeable
Yet I’ve looked the same since I called myself me
The difficulty I have
Isn’t with the skin, hair and teeth
It’s with my unchanging attitude;
My need to perfect and be perfect.
I’m doing it now as I write this
Criticising the way that I think
If it’s in me to scrutinize, to poke and to sneer
Then I guess I’m just trying to make myself clear
By failing to accept my flaws
I’m simply staying true to myself
Embracing the part that rejects the imperfections
And scathing all that’s imperfect.