Imperfections Poem by Jeri Martindale

In becoming imperfect, I became outspoken, how can saying how I feel possibly come back to hurt me?
Becoming imperfect, I became a person; growing inside I did not hide those thoughts of mine exploding.
Releasing the fire, burning emotions; I realized my whole everything was feeding the flame, and then the flames engulfed me.
When had the water fall stopped pouring down, cleansing my imperfections as it fell softly down upon Me?