Perfection is a myth

I'm imperfect,
I make mistakes which I always accept,
But the world makes me condemned,
Of dissatisfaction and guilt,
Torturing me every second of my life,
Claiming, that I was meant to do it,
Adversities occur sometimes,
But you cannot question my ability,
Because usually those are just bad times
Why can't people love me for who I am?
Just not giving a damn,
About my looks and personality,
And most importantly my reality,
Because no matter whatever happens
I'm imperfect and will always be