I am not perfect, what a knowable claim,
My skin is dry, my hands are crummy, my mask is very ugly,
I'm not perfect, but no one is to blame,
Because it is impossible any human to be.
The things I make are a reflection of this fact,
The needle that pokes my flesh is evident,
The way I miss so conveniently the way this is meant to be made.
I am not perfect, what an obvious observation,
My skin is overfilled, my hands are sore, my mask is very ugly,
I am not perfect , but that is not a cause for crucifixion,
Because it is futile for anyone to be, no matter how hard they might try.
