There is not a way to weave my words

In which I’d say I’m without flaw

Nobody stops me in the streets

And stares at my intense beauty.

My doctor says I have to lose weight,

And I’m diagnosed with more than one condition.

I don’t do much very well,

And what I do well I shamelessly flaunt.

I’m an unsuccessful flirt, and

A bad one at that.

But I am not at fault.

I have not done a thing too wrong.

The above listed is not enough

To disqualify me from the race.

The human race.

The flaws I wear upon my sleeve are countless

But I own them.

I own every one without remorse.

I will never say I’m perfect,

Or without my wax.

But I can metaphorically wield a battle axe

And chop the fingers off anyone

Who writes otherwise.