Some people think they're perfect. I for one, am not that delusional. In fact I just might be the exact opposite. Mass chaos, an unorganized mess. Tears, smiles, laughter, and screaming all thrown together to make one imperfect person.

Can you say you're perfect? If only that were true, because then you wouldn't lie to me. Or maybe you'd lie more. Because who is to say that perfect equates to honesty.

Who or what is perfection? Is it the model strutting down the runway? The cool breeze on a hot summer day? Or is it the girl who has so much confidence that she cares not when she doesnt resemble a doll. Does it even exist? Only the perfect can tell.

So I'm a mess of tangled emotions, swirling out of control. Regretting, learning, changing, reminiscing.

Perfectly imperfect...
Am I?