Flaw

It does not take much effort to admit
I am imperfect, flawed beyond belief;
Nor does it bring me any sort of grief
To say it once again: I've done some shit
I am not proud of but could not omit
Because I have these failings, and, in brief,
They are indelible, in high relief
Against the backdrop of my soul, and knit
Deeply within me. No, I'm not perfect,
Not everything I could, perhaps, have been;
I wish I could reach back and redirect
All of those moments when I moved to sin,
But no one can: we all are such, I know.
Yet still it does not feel good to be so.