I Am Not Perfect

I'm not that smart. I'm not nice. I'm not sweet. I'm not so pretty. I'm not that tough. I'm not that confident. I'm not the least bit loveable. I'm not the best at everything I do. I don't care as much as I should. I care more than I should. I have that nasty temper. I don't know the things I want to know and can't do the things I want to do; like comfort a friend when they're hurting. I don't know how to do that. My mouth gets me into more trouble than my actions or inaction.

I don't like "nobody is perfect" as an excuse for flaws. Not saying that every flaw absolutely needs to be fixed. I'm just saying it's lame as an excuse. A lot of what I listed are things I'm okay with. I don't have to be smart or pretty or tough or liked. I think I wear the worst of myself on my sleeve. Somehow I still encounter people who end up my friends. They don't get the worst of me, the ugliest amd most imperfect part of me. It didn't apply to them. I protect them from myself. I do hate that I can't express the best to them. I can't properly convey to them how grateful I am and how much I love them. That's the flaw, the imperfection, I hate the most about myself.