The un-perfect world

Tears stream down my face. I look down at myself, stuck in a world of unhappiness.
I try, I really do, it's just so hard to fix what's already made. Because of stupid mistakes, I am no longer the person I want to be.
I lie in the tub, washing away my dirtiness, but somehow they keep coming up, in the same places.
It's hard to be the perfect person everyone wants you to be. I can't always help everyone in the world. Neither can you, but once I fail, you are disappointed. How is it that I am the one cleaning up the mess, when there's billions of people here right now?
We limit ourselves. In the best and worst ways possible. Secrets are kept and lies are told, but in the end... is it really worth it? My answer is yes. There's reasons that things are secrets, but secrets are the real truth of ourselves and others.
I am no longer the best person, I am no longer the peasant, I am no longer the one in chains tied down. I am in fact imperfect. I am the one with scars and tears, not only of mine, but of others. No one can be perfect..... but if only we were.