Perfect is a mannequin.
Add a little heart to it, and you have added a bit of imperfection. Add a mind and a soul, and bit by bit you keep adding imperfection. What will I be, without my imperfections, without my heart, mind and soul, a mere mannequin, a machine, a robot.
A perfect mother, a perfect husband, a perfect son, daughter, friend, kind of phrases make me think something is unreal. It’s a facade, a farce, a mask, a shell, behind which the real person hides, scared to come out and show their dark side, their sorrows, their falls, their tears, all the things that make them real.
Nature is a perfect example of imperfections. Have you seen the same shade of sunset every day, or the same blue in the sky each morning, the same shade of green in every leaf, or the same colours on every butterfly’s wings? Even the 7 billion human beings in the world have a unique set of fingerprints.
So, I ask the world to accept me with my imperfections because perfection is man-made. The only perfection that is meant to be, is in being perfectly imperfect, just like nature.
