Where Do Imperfect People Go?

Where do imperfect people go, When they don't fit in, when they don't belong?

Do they build a world of their own, Or search for a place in someone else's song?

Do they find solace in quiet skies,

Or peace in knowing they need not try?

Do they walk with ease, untamed and free,

Or chase a mold they'll never be?

Do they laugh alone with stars at night,

Or trace their steps to find what's right

Do they carve new paths where none exist,

Or knock on doors that still resist?

Where do imperfect people roam, In a world built on perfect lines?

Do they find that not fitting in Was always their perfect design?