The Lies We Tell of the Fake Perfect


There is a certain thing I seem to be

A manner sweet, and care put in my dress-

But deeper look would show I'm nearly free

Of qualities that I seem to possess.


 Success was in my plan, they all would say

Whilst sunny shadows shone from both my eyes,

They'd confidence I'd meat each bright new day

If I did fall, I'd brush off and arise.


I don't deserve, though, all this grand remark,

In secret, eyes cast down in hurt despair

For I have wandered frightened in the dark-

I'm broken 'yond believe- beyond repair.


If cast I off persona that I've been,

What things, my dearest one, would you see then?


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