The poems I ran out of time to send.

Perfection isn't real.

If only I was thinner,

just a bit slimmer,

If only I had a better heart, 

if only I was smart.

If only my face was more beautiful 

then maybe I would be, 

more meaningful.

If I ate less a day, 

or exercised a certain way, 

may I look better?

If I had more friends, 

less split ends, 

a girlfriend or boyfriend,

would I be happier?

If I was cooler, 

had better style, 

went that extra mile to look better, 

would I still be sad?

If I had a better jawline, 

or a better eye line.

Or if I was the fastest, 

or the smartest, 

or the prettiest,

would all my problems go away?

No.

Because the only thing I long for, 

to make my day, 

Is you.

And in trying to be yours, 

I realised I gained even more flaws, 

and became a mess.

So, please just understand, 

I'm trying my best, 

and yes I may be weirder than the rest, 

But really, I couldn't care less.

Because I am done trying, 

and done lying.

It's your decision now,

if you love or hate me?

But, I can't change myself no more, 

just so I will be, 

the one you want to see before, 

you die.