Perfectly Imperfect

November 7, 2010
Mr. Perfect
I saw you and I knew,
I knew you were that type,
The type that sits with the cheerleaders,
The type that flips your hair,
The type that everybody wants to know.

I saw you and I was silent,
Because I wasn’t that type,
I was the type.
The type that was sort of between,
The type that doesn’t dress by the magazines,
The type that doesn’t really care.

But our fate sat us together in almost every class that year,
And as we talked,
My friends giggled,
And said I would soon be Mrs. Perfect,
And all the “mean girls” stared me down when you weren’t looking,
And I know they all said stuff about me to you.

But you didn’t care,
Which took me by surprise,
As did everything you did,
And that was when I realized Mr. Perfect,
Was what nobody thought he was.

He had so many dreams,
He had so many deep thoughts,
And every day that took me by surprise,
He wasn’t just some jock,
So me and him,
We grew closer.

And yes I did become Mrs. Perfect,
To the most imperfect guy,
And that was just what I needed,
Someone like me,
Who was perfectly imperfect.

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