If it were to be the way that BPD were,
You’d be a goddess or a demon all cut pure,
In gleaming shards of perfect,
You’d hate with everything,
You’d love without anything in reserve.
There would be no middle ground,
No gray area to be common found,
I’d split your single you into two,
Burn effigy of the one not true,
Until the times they changed again,
And I realized that you were my truest friend.
Thank God you’ve showed me to look beyond,
Hear the words your actions write,
When ears signal music to a different song,
You’ll remain imperfectly perfect,
Like us all.