Perfectly Imperfect

I am perfectly imperfect
When all of my illusions are taken out                                                                                                          When all of the makeup falls away                                                                                                                        My flaws are visable                                                                                                                                                  But, now I realize,so what?

I am actually stubborn and loud                                                                                                                            Like some car that just keeps honking                                                                                                                 But I will never back down from what I am or what I believe in  

Beneath my painted smile I am                                                                                                                             A mess that just wants to cry and weep sometimes                                                                                         In the end though, that's just humanity, right?                                                                                                 My unshielded words are rough without thought or order                                                                                                                                                                   While in reality I must always sound calm and perfect                                                                                Questions are always on my lips                                                                                                                          Who, what, when, where, why                                                                                                                                 Driving everyone crazy in my want for more knowledge                                                                                                         

When I become unflitered and exoposed                                                                                                            I think of myself as weak, needing my makeup and heels as body armor                                                    Become demure to deal with the day, bowing my head and being quiet                                                       But this has made me think                                                                                                                                    Whats so wrong with being like Rose from Titanic, tossing off her rich shoes to dance                          Whats so wrong with being me, instead of some dresssed up ideal 

I am perfectly imperfect                                                                                                                                            And  I will be perfectly imperfect                                                                                                                             I will live without regret, and just be me