heavy is the head

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how wretched it feels
to be both perfect and imperfect,
to be the example and still the caution sign.

i sing and she claps,
then she grins and cries.
i frown and she groans,
and she sighs, and she sighs, and she sighs.
all i can ask is to be that bar,
the one she expects me to reach;
the one she waits for me to float above thoughtlessly.
yet again and again, i watch her face fall
in utter disappointment.
so often i wish i could please her
the way the others do so well.
yet the golden child,
the talented, the intelligent, the mature, the determined;
simply can not be talented or intelligent or mature or determined enough
for her.

how wretched it feels to be both
perfect
and imperfect.

- gianna marie.

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