Understand me: I am not a perfect girl.

I may, at times, be fierce,
But I am rarely ever flawless.
I will get mad
And write shitty little poems about love,
Then throw them in your face like sad confetti.

I’ll stain your white shirts with my pharmacy foundation,
My mascara will run when I cry…
And when I laugh too hard…
And when I forget to wash my face at night.

I’ll mix my public university vocabulary
With as many “shits” and “damns” as I possibly can,
So much so, you’ll never know
When you’ll hear a sweet, smart woman,
Or a dirty and drunk old man.

There will be days I want to be left alone,
And it’s best to just leave me be.

Seriously, leave me the hell alone.

I need a dimension to myself sometimes,
My bed is my planet, and
I’ll wrap myself in the comforting cosmos…
It would take more than a rocket to get to me.

So, please, if you consider me at all,
Consider me whole,
Consider me lovely,
Consider me something strange and unique, but…
Don’t ever expect me to be perfect.
Don’t ever expect that I will…
Or even can…be.

Perfect girls do not exist.

No, Lars, I am a real, real girl.
There’s beauty in my bad parts, see.

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