You’re not perfect. You don’t look like those girls in those magazines. You’ve got scars and blemishes. You’ve got dimples on the wrong set of cheeks. You got stretch marks for days. And you stand their wondering what anyone could see in you because all you see is a hot mess.
You’re not perfect. You fumble your words when your boss asks you a question. Eye contact is probably the scariest thing on the planet next to spiders. You often wonder how you made it this far in life without confidence and you see all those confident women making move and being successful while you tread water.
You’re not perfect. You dread closing your eyes at night because even though you’re exhausted your mind won’t quit. The record that plays an endless loop of all your failures, insecurities, what ifs and regrets echoes through your mind like wave in the ocean and they never stop.
You’re not perfect. You have your flaws. You come with heavy baggage. You’re not the smartest person, but you’re not dumb. You like to watch Disney movies and eat ice cream straight from the carton. And you’ve been told all the wrong things, by all the wrong guys and you started to believe them. You believed them to the point that now they’re your truth about who you are.
You’re not perfect. You know this. You can see it in every blemish and scar. You can see it mapped out in stretch marks and dimples on your body that isn’t like those girls in those magazines. And as you stand there alone in front of the mirror you wonder how anyone could ever want this hot mess and then you hear it, a familiar tone that washes all those thoughts away. Yeah…You’re not perfect, but you’re perfect to the one that’s perfect for you.