The Count of Writing Materials Does not Imply you are a Prolific Writer!

Oh my dear  You look so clear  To be clear and soothing? Oh no!  There comes a pimple in the morning,  There comes another in the night. When you darkenes,  I know you are sad. When you are happy, I see the seven colours in your eyes. At night, I can see those sparkling blemishes of yours.

Finally, the time has come, I've begun to gaze at you. I've started to find, Minor imperfections in you, But those imperfections, Don't matter; Cus, They're only seen and felt, Only by me, Those imperfections maybe, Perfections for some Now it doesn't matter In a way all are imperfect, That's why we all have, A distinctive character. That's why we all are different. Till now I've found only, Minor imperfections in you. Maybe there are more, Yet to be found out by me. I continue to gaze at you, My eyes are still clinging onto you, Hoping to spot a flaw.