Damaged is what they say
When they talk behind my back.
Broken and unpredictable.
So torn up her scars have scars,
And she wears a twitching smile.
But who likes something perfect?
What’s a world without a crack?
It’s fake and sterile and plastic.
No life, none at all to speak of.
It’s just cold and unrealistic.
My damage gives me character.
It makes up for what I lack.
It makes me quirky and unique.
No one else has the scars I have,
My thoughts, or the way I speak.
I’m comfortable with what I am.
Go ahead with your attack.
I don’t care, call me dense.
Though it was a long road here,
I have finally found my confidence.