It's hard to let all the imperfections be a part of you,
You won't want a rusted forks or cracked plates on a perfect meal,
Then you think too much about covering them,
But the truth is,
they are a part of you that you can't love.
It's hard for you to read the last page you've written,
You would like everything you've written a happy ending,
You worry too much that all of everything will come to lose,
But the truth is,
let go of the things you've outgrown.
