Are they many, are they few?
Should I make them known to you?
Would you care, if I did share
The things that make me imperfect;
The flaws I’d prefer to keep secret.

Some are what make me, be me;
That make me think the way I do.
That cause me to do the things I do,
And seem different from someone who
Also has flaws... as I’m sure you do.

Are you willing to accept my imperfections,
Or are they too many for you to care?
I don’t want to hide any longer.
But, regardless of my good intentions,
They may always affect the way I appear.