Satisfaction held no statue, peace in content ,  as my lips dispised gratitude. Walk of terror swaying with the curve in my curls in depth with my lens defying the width of my eyes which potruded attitude. But I still stood lost, troubled, and confused as others baffeled at the thought of me, silently shaking earthquakes of tears in search of hope coping but still not healed. Arms chilled , words composed like how cold can she be? Colder than you see. Am I a beast? Or am I the best? I am flawless. My imperfect ways speak loudly. Greatly flawed. Afterall the terror my feet couldn't move so I had this attiude trying to remove it all. My mother taught me to stand up tall, "head up, your the boss" Shes stronger than anybody I know;but greatly flawed. I am imperfect can't you see? Big teeth, thick coarse hair that breaks combs, big foot that cannot adjust. The way I walk  shows that  am not weak, the way I talk is to show that I value my  brain-- my tounge. Enrichment in intelligence I select. I am fine with being imperfect confident flawed me.. in that I am set aside atlast I can finally be free