PeRFeCt
My brother always feared to enter the neighbour's home,
the fear of criticism,
those questions unanswered,
those accusations unfiltered.
"No, I ain't better than your son."
The melody, lyrics—they find wholesome.
A big smile.
"Okay, son. But you do have a quality—you're kind.
Not all are the same.
Only some have those powers to claim.
You didn't. Oops, that's a shame."
My little self walked in the room.
"You are the best.
You are the family's moon.
Your grade?"
A*
"Oh, we knew.
Your future's bright.
You will rule."
I smiled,
dreamt to reach infinite miles.
Now I'm like the sun.
Please don't expect it after rainy weather.
What if the storm's heavy,
its conditions rough, dark, and patchy?
I ain't ready to light.
Maybe I'm born to reach a different height.
The peak is not easy to climb.
Then why do I have to do it with a smile?
Why can't I swim?
I don't wanna climb.
Why can't I direct?
I don't wanna act.
Why buy an art when I can paint it with my heart?
But the world wants perfection.
Their eyes hate emptiness.
Everyone needs to have everything if you're part of the family.
Not 'cause you'll feel happy,
but so that they can walk with a broad chest,
some respect they'll get.
They continue with the tradition,
call a child the king of his school.
My brain just got déjà vu.
I wish the child could say,
"I hate you."
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