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Poem
Everyday it seems i’m the victim of a false perception,
One I wish was true, but I am far from fulfilling the definition of perfection.
But people perceive me to be, form their remarks I can tell, 
They think too highly of me, i’m put on a pedestal.
I appreciate it, I do, they make me smile and i have faith in myself too,
But sometimes, I find myself wishing they didn’t think of me the way they do.
Because everyday on the receiving end of one remark or another,
I  constantly feel something heavy weighing down on my shoulder.

“Oh you didn’t studying, you’ll still get full marks.” 
I won’t, I don’t, I can’t.
“Of course you were panicking for no reason, highest in the class!”
But I was being genuine about how i felt.
“You get full marks in everything.”
No i don’t, I have my fair share of bad grades.
“A 14 on 15 is bad for you isn’t it?”
It isn’t, but is it wrong to aspire to be the best? 

“And the highest mark goes to—”
All eyes fall on me, I’m terrified of being a let down. 
If my names reaches my ears, I exhale, I haven’t disappointed,
If not, I turn red, happy for the other person but filled with embarrassment.
It seems to them that problems aren’t mine,
and even if they ‘exist’ they believe i conquer them i time.
But only I know the truth 
The way I feel takes ages to soothe 

I fear to let myself and others down, to disappoint,
It comes as no surprise that it is my greatest feat in life.
Every second of every day I am consumed by this phobia, 
I’m petrified, I know it will drive me to the edge of hysteria.
But as a girl in her teens, isn’t that too much of a burden to bear?
I wish i was free, I wish I had to the ability to not care,
But I don’t, it hurts me, it scares me,
I often wish i wasn’t born in this body. 

I cannot and do not blame anyone for the way I feel, 
It's so easy to convince yourself that others aren’t real. 
I’ve felt that way about so many others, they seem so perfect,
And I suppose now writing this poem makes me a hypocrite. 
As the saying goes, the grass is greener on the side, 
Things are never as they seem from the outside.
Almost impossible  it seems to put yourself in someone else's shoes, 
To feel as your own, their views and blues.
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