just write: seven letter lie.

you are not perfect;

anyone who has told you so was a liar. 

but they were also blind, 

and did not look closely enough. 

if they had, they would have seen you

and seen that your so-called-imperfections 

are what make you incredible. 

the crinkles around your eyes from years of laughing and

the chip in your tooth from that one time that one summer and 

your stretch marks from when you grew into yourself and

your anxiously-bitten nails because you care so much and 

your laugh that is so loud, so different that strangers must turn around to look at your joy and 

your splotchy birthmarks and 

your frizzy hair and 

your sometimes-stutter and 

how tears spring to your eyes over any emotion. 

perfect? 

what an insult. 

what a lie. 

you are a vast ocean of imperfection

and anyone who has been lucky enough to watch your waves crash knows

you could never be summed up in that 

seven letter

l i e .