There are many things I do not know.
I do not know how to be perfect.
I do not know how to live up to the expectations of others.
I do not know how to tear away these scars that wrap me head to toe.
I do not know how to be other than I am.
There are few things I do know.
I do know that some love me as I am.
I do know that my flaws are forgiven.
I do know that, somehow, God has made these patchwork scars into art.
And I do know that, at the end of the day,
I’d rather sing for the joy of the song
Than for the praise of the critic.