I am made entirely of flaws, stitched together by good intentions.

I’ve always simply wanted to be a good human being.

But how can you fulfill a wish like that with a history of scars?

So instead of healing, I’ve spent my life on the run bleeding.

My flaws don’t define me, but they disrupt my relationships.

I could never figure out how to be whole, how to be normal.

But how could I be whole when I’ve only been ripped apart?

The only time I’m put together is when I’m polite and formal.

Of course, that applies to strangers, who can’t see my flaws.

In friendships, in love, I’ve only ever wanted to be good.

But how could I be good when the world is full of malice?

I’ve always had good intentions but I’m just misunderstood.

Surely, if they knew who I am, if they could see into my core,

They’d never question my flaws because they’re human

But even being human, how does that justify hurting others?

No matter what I do, my intentions are just effort I put in.

They will never be enough to cover my numerous flaws.

I’ve spent so long trying to hide them, running away.

But how do I expect people to understand the hidden?

I need to find the courage to heal, maybe I can someday.