I am imperfect.
From my straightened hair to my stubborn attitude
I am not a morning person.
I get all my nourishment from chamomile ginger tea
For a boost of energy
like a rocket shooting up to the sky.
Although it's seems that I'm stuck.
I'm rooted to the earth,
the roots of a dark oak tree the roots are weaving around my body, pulling me to the ground below the the musty solid dirt.
I stand still as the dusty purple sky fades as the sun flows below the horizon.
All night, I thought long and hard and came to a conclusion.
All imperfections are perfect.
The sun rises with pastel tangerines,
and the roots disappeared.
I am imperfect.
From my frizzy hair to my quiet personality.
I want strawberry waffles with my sunrise and sunsets.
