Analysis of It ain't perfect.

Don't hear a sound?
Well look around.
What's it all worth.
To you a memory?
To others worth grows.
Who knows.
It echoes.
Labels of choice.
Labels of new voice.
Still sounds...
bouncing off objects/
bouncing into objects.
Would you give it away?
Could you throw it away?
Will you make it stay?
Objectives!
What are you made of?
Should you be played of?
Like instruments we sing.
Like poems we are read.
What you do is said.
Your languages a movement.
Moves me to tears for a moment
when you leave your shell behind.
Your instrument of life no longer a bind.
It ain't perfect yet
It's delicate 'pet'.
It gets wet, dries out, cries in pain.
Who's to blame?
Truth?
Proof?
Just try before...