My Imperfection

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She’s wasn’t a childhood sweetheart

or my high school crush.

No, she was more from the start.

We had a connection,

more than I bargained,

she’s my perfect imperfection.

We cheated on tests

and lied about our age.

Honestly, we’re just a mess.

When I lay in bed,

she’s stuck in my head,

because of what she said,

“I’m a lover and a fighter,

I’m eclectic and a natural.

I’m the loser no one wanted

drawing hearts on napkins.

You’re the missing piece

to my imperfection.”

I was flawed from the beginning,

maybe until the end.

She mended something worth saving.

A mocha creamed complexion

with eyes of fascination,

her perfect imperfection.

I see her again tonight,

this will be our final date.

I get to pop the question under starlight.

When I’m down on one knee,

she’ll finally get to see

the words she said to me:

“I’m a lover and a fighter,

I’m eclectic and a natural.

I’m the loser no one wanted

Drawing hearts on napkins.

You’re the missing piece

to my imperfection.”

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