My hair has split ends.

My eyes look like mud.

My body has scars.

And I don't say "Amen."

You ask what I think of myself 

And I hesitate.

But then you ask if I have flaws.

I answer, "Why, yes, I'm perfect."

You say that's not what you asked

But I say, "Your flaws make you perfect;

The more you have, the 'perfecter' you are."

Why, yes, I'm perfect.

Don't you think you are too?